Goblin Town -- Logs

Work was satisfying for Mary in a way neither her sister nor her parents understood. Mary's intellect was a little puzzling to them, in fact, because none of them were particularly erudite. Mom was a former homecoming queen and dad was a former jock turned realtor. Their eldest daughter's dumpy form and stubborn refusal to be girly enough to want to do much about it confused them. Her ease in school was nice, they supposed, but how was she ever going to marry well and bring them pretty grandbabies? When their second daughter, Candace -- Candi for short -- was born and then turned out be exactly what they had hoped Mary would be, their eldest became the object of a sort of benign neglect. Mary encouraged it however she could -- because the alternative was (to her) horrifying: loud and jocular ribbing from her father in order to 'help' her with more sports activities... or overly chummy mother-daughter shopping trips where she was clucked and sighed over due to having a body shape that didn't precisely fit the off-the-rack clothing styles.

The focus on Candi, and bemusedly distanced regard of Mary, wasn't precisely abuse... but it was certainly expressed through a notable lack of enthusiasm in Mary's small life triumphs. To make up for feeling so unconnected with her family, Mary lost herself in books. Books and math were her secret joys -- they both made her life easier, and far more interesting. Fantasy was her preferred taste in reading materials, though she'd pick up anything if the library was out of new books in her genre of choice. Everything from old fairytales (Grimm really was grim when you looked at the originals) to modern urban fantasy was devoured with equal intellectual hunger. When she graduated high school summa cum laude, and went to college completely on academic scholarships, her family had been puzzled -- though pleased at the momentary attention it gained them -- and had congratulated her in a slightly bemused, offhand manner.

University was Mary's first real taste of freedom. She continued being extremely self-conscious about her chubby figure and nondescript features -- not to mention the glasses -- but she found that she could do higher math with pleasure and swift exactitude -- almost as easily as other students breathed. With her enjoyment and knowledge of mathematics she likely could have been a mathematics professor, but she considered the prospect of being the butt of yet more juvenile jokes to be horrifying... and the thought of teaching uninterested children to be excruciatingly dull. Instead, she decided to go into a field where her beloved numbers meant something tangible. Being a CPA wasn't something her parents had envisioned for either of their girls, but they could at least understand wanting to keep track of wealth.

Starting out at her first firm was a bit boring, but her adept handling of even complex cases soon caught the eyes of the higher-ups. Despite no effort to do so on her part, Mary began to rise in the ranks until she was head of a department euphemistically titled "Special Accounts" -- where the job was to hunt down and untangle books that were suspected of being extensively cooked. Various governmental agencies hired Mary's firm as contractors, when trying to follow money trails that seemed too arcane to be untangled... and Mary's employers always delivered. Their 'secret weapon' was Mary, who found she relished those challenges! Sometimes she felt she could almost envision the flow of assets from one place to another as literal trails.

Mary kept her own financial house in scrupulous order... mostly because it deeply pleased her on some level to do so. Money was saved meticulously; purchases were scrupulously noted down and budgeted. Indeed, the lonely girl had something of a sixth sense when it came to things like commodities markets. Knowing how much something should be worth, and how much it actually was worth, was something she found herself quite proud of. She also found she had a sometimes off-putting ability to recognize whether gems and precious metals were real or not. It only took one or two offhand comments about cubic zirconia and dyed rubies for her to realize with embarrassment that people didn't actually want to know that gifts from their sweeties weren't authentic. Mary wasn't unintelligent; she knew to hush up after one or two of those sorts of situations, and to avoid certain people. She just wasn't the social wizard Candi was, and she knew she wasn't any good at hiding her true thoughts on such things.

Mary had been working for her current firm for several years and was quite content to stay in her mid-sized, Midwest, middle-of-the-road city -- hopefully for the rest of her life. She was in a job she understood and a place where she felt comfortable -- completely unlike what her parents had wanted for her, or occasionally tried to coax her into. Despite their efforts, she rarely took vacations -- what would she do on one that she couldn't do already? Equally, she almost never traveled, feeling no need to do so. Until one day she started to feel a tickle at the back of her mind... a really strong one, considering it managed to break through her usual reticence regarding leaving her cozy, comfortable little home -- a small, insistent thought that... maybe she needed to head east. Soon.

Naturally, being who she was, Mary did her best to either ignore the thought or subsume it in work and reading -- her two chief joys in life. It was strange, though. The harder she tried to ignore it, the stronger the pull got. Even stranger -- and frankly rather disconcerting -- was the fact that diving into her work with numbers made the urge in the back of her mind flash like a beacon. She'd nervously gotten a doctor's appointment, wondering if she had a brain tumor or something. She didn't know whether to be pleased or worried that the check-up showed her to be in excellent health... yet the internal pull didn't go away.

As the days went on, the tug got stronger. It went from just being an urge in the back of her mind to being something that made it feel uncomfortable to stay still. Sitting at her desk or reading on the couch started to be difficult and sometimes almost physically painful. It wasn't an ache in her muscles or joints, exactly. It just felt like just sitting there was wrong.

Mary was in tears by the time she gave in to it. She'd done her best to struggle onwards, but when she realized she was actually having trouble focusing on her formerly deeply satisfying work -- that she'd actually fumbled some simple paycheck additions -- that's when she realized: Something Must Be Done. She went to the restroom and had a good cry in private, then went back to her desk and applied for vacation time starting as soon as possible. Then she flipped open a new window on her computer screen and started researching airline tickets... and wondering just where she was going. It was truly unpleasant -- like the earth was dropping out from under her feet at random times during the day -- but she was grimly determined to resolve this peculiar... this... well, this thing that was happening to her! Once she went there and -- and gave a piece of her mind to whatever or whomever was doing this to her -- yes, that would fix things. She'd tell them to knock it the heck off! -- then come home and everything would be fine. Yes. Absolutely. That's all that needed doing, she was sure.

Eventually it occurred to Mary that perhaps flying wasn't the best option. All she felt was a vague pull east and maybe a little north. She sighed exasperatedly at herself, then extended her applied-for vacation time from a week to two -- that, she was sure, was all the time she'd be willing to be away from her life for this... this annoying... nonsense... whatever thing! Then she researched busses and trains, looking for something where she could hop off when she wanted -- when this pull finally abated and she knew she was where she was suppo- er, no. Where she was being forced to go to, against her will! Right. Because she was absolutely positive -- and kept telling herself too -- that she didn't really want to do this... and it wasn't starting to become sort of... well... exciting-but-not to her.

Trains and busses had routes going in the right general direction. Unfortunately, trains had lost a lot of stops as the popularity of driving and flying had grown. Busses might be the best bet... except they were often uncomfortable. Perhaps a mix of the two would work... until Mary added up the cost of all the planned tickets. They wanted what for a measly bus and train combo?! Great stars, did they think she was made of money?!

Mary had lost her temper then, stomping off for a break. After savagely devouring a candy bar, then gloomily slugging down a drink -- both from the concessions stand -- she'd finally pulled herself together again, and come up with what she hoped was a viable alternative. She'd just drive her car! She had some money budgeted for emergencies, and surely gas wouldn't cost her more than the... the outrageous amount they wanted for tickets...!

It took a bit longer than a day, but eventually everything was ready. The car had been double-checked by her mechanic; the tank was full. Her job was waiting for her to return to work, though she still felt a little guilty about having fibbed to her boss about a supposed family emergency -- she had no idea that she was a terrible liar and her boss was genuinely wondering what was up. Instead Mary had carefully packed for her trip: clothing, snacks, books, her computer gear... her GPS was up and running, she had paper maps for backup and just in case... everything was as perfect and dependable as she could make it. All she had to do now was... start.

Mary's nervousness was probably responsible for the tire squeal as she backed out of her parking spot and headed down the road. The moment the nose of her car turned in the general direction of the pull, the excited-but-scared feeling turned to just excitement and -- after a few miles -- almost... elation? Very weird. It was as if the force tugging her eastward was rewarding her -- that, or she had never realized getting on the road was liberating. After all, most of her assets [hoard] were where she could access them from anywhere in the world.

Wait� 'hoard'?! Where in the world had that word come from? She wasn't a hoarder! She had a few things she held precious, sure -- but she sure didn't have a stinky, over-packed house jam-packed full of pointless stuff, or... or stupid tchotchkes that she compulsively collected! She wasn't ill either -- neither brain-addled from being alone like her mother sometimes accused her of, nor a crazy, lonely cat lady like her father insisted she'd become!

Still that word came back: hoard... and the feeling that came with it didn't seem unpleasant. Indeed, she felt proud of what she'd accumulated, and also how her assets were good, practical, useful, and -- above all -- could be quite lucrative should she ever have the need to liquidate them. For a moment she thought longingly that maybe she should buy some gold to keep with her... just in case, you know. Then common sense kicked in, and she started mentally analyzing options for some substance of actual worth that she could keep handy for just in case. Gold's resale value stank, but what about... hmm... gems? Not diamonds -- they were even worse than gold. Fountain pens, antique jewelry, cashier's checks? Turning her mind to that seemed to calm her even further, and the car almost seemed to guide itself. Exactly where she was in the country didn't seem to matter so much, really. What mattered was that she was going [home] where she was meant to go. Eventually, it became obvious that it really was northeast that the call was coming from.

The moment she crossed over the state line in Massachusetts, Mary got an eager thrill down in her stomach. When she crossed the city line, she knew she was within a hop, skip, and a jump of her destination. Somehow she knew, just knew, that she was headed toward something wonderful -- something she would consider infinitely precious.

Almost there. Soon. Almost home.

Boston is a modern city like every other major American city -- or at least it seems mostly modern. But here and there are still pockets of history and a sense of the years. The whole country is fairly new compared to say, the United Kingdom, but it doesn't mean there's not a weight of experience there. Intriguingly, the pull isn't taking Mary into downtown. Instead, she has to take a circuitous route to pinpoint where she's being drawn to. She frowns consideringly... then realizes she's lost anyway -- the Boston roads are a nightmare to drive on! She laughs quietly to herself and decides to trust. As much as she can without breaking traffic laws, she just... follows the pull.

Eventually she finds herself slowing down and stopping in front of a suburban house with a fresh-seeming paint job and a well-kept lawn. The windows are what really stand out about it, though. None of them seem to be clear glass; each one is multicolored, with some being images and some just abstract designs. Even the little half-circle window in the front door is stained glass. Along with all the colorful windows, the entirety of the porch eaves are lined with wind chimes that tinkle and sing with the light breeze. Surprisingly, the tones don't clash. For so many chimes with different sizes and metallic makeups, the sound is pleasingly melodious.

Mary doesn't immediately realize she's there, and ends up having to circle the block... and then, once she really zeroes in on the house and parks, she has a small panic attack. What is she doing here?! What's she going to do -- walk up and knock on the door and tell some confused middle-aged, disapproving, middle-class woman like her mom... that she followed a 'pull' here?! She sits in the car and tries to remember not to nervously chew on her nails as she stares at the... at the... huh. Those really are pretty windows... and the chimes are surprisingly melodic...

As she's having her panic attack -- followed by her moment of revelation -- the front door opens and someone steps out. They look like the very archetype of Little Old Lady. There's no way she's over five feet tall, and she's wearing an old fashioned dress with a knitted shawl over her shoulders and half-circle glasses perched on her nose. Gleamingly white hair is put up into a bun. It's the shoes that don't quite go -- they're bright pink Crocs and seem to have something sparkly tucked into the holes on the top. After a moment, the old woman makes her way down the steps and to the gate. It's also freshly painted -- spanking-clean white, and the only entrance into the picket-fence enclosed yard. She doesn't seem worried, just curious� and she's looking right at Mary.

Mary eep!s silently to herself when she realizes the woman is staring at her, and for a panicked moment she struggles with the urge to duck down out of sight in the car! Only her realization of just how silly and/or suspicious that would look keeps her sitting nervously upright. She stares back, trying to control her case of the jitters... until finally she realizes: if this is where she's supposed to be... then maybe this woman knows something about it? Mary takes several deep breaths, counting slowly to ten and reminding herself she's a strong, intelligent, capable person! Then she swallows hard, grabs her purse, takes another deep breath... and opens the car door.

It almost feels like she's caught in a slow motion movie for a few seconds there: she slides out of the car, closes the door, turns to face the woman... remembers to force an anxious smile onto her face, raises her hand to wave, and calls, "Hello! Ummm..." She pauses, not quite sure what to do next... then smiles weakly and adds, "H-hi?"

The little woman at the gate smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners into little nests of wrinkles. "Hello to you, too." Her voice has the slight warble of the very elderly, but she seems quite cogent, "I just bet that you're Mary, aren't you?" Mary blinks -- then her eyes widen as she simply stares at the woman. Words have temporarily deserted her!

A warm and sweet laugh meets that stare, "Oh, dear. I've startled you." She unlatches the gate and makes a 'come in' gesture, "Please, come in. I'm Rebecca. I'm your� hmm..." The old woman tips her head and her lips move -- then she says, "I think it's about six-greats grandmother. Well, step-grandmother. We're not related by blood. I've just been married to your grandfather for several decades."

Mary just stands there dumbstruck for several seconds. Finally she manages to squeak through dry lips, "Six greats?! That... that's impossible!" She starts to ground a little from the disbelief -- and the worry that once again, someone's mocking her -- but then a niggling little thought occurs to her: what about the 'pull'? -and... how did this woman know her name? Mary frowns, staring thoughtfully at the asphalt for a few seconds... then sighs and decides her curiosity has the best of her -- and really, what's the old lady going to do? Bean her with a teapot? That silly thought makes Mary smile again... and she steps forward towards the strange woman. Her voice is conversational as she says, "You're really going to have to tell me how you did all this, okay? It's really well done!" Simultaneously she's quietly reminding herself: be polite, but also be wary!

"What part?" Rebecca steps aside and motions Mary forward again, "Please. My hips don't like me to stand for very long. We can sit on the porch if you're nervous. He warned me you might be."

Mary is happy to sit on the porch with... Rebecca? She sighs, tilting her head back to rest it on the swing's back pillow as she listens to the gentle chiming... and slowly relaxing after the long, tiring drive. Her voice is thoughtful, "Well, how did you know my name? How did you create that pull? Who's he?" She grins as she adds, "Why me?" On the porch, the pleasant chiming is even more musical.

Rebecca herself settles in a well-padded rocker that looks like it was made for her. The little bit of distance also gives Mary a little room to feel comfortable. "Because your Grandfather, excuse me for not adding all the greats, kept track of the family. Quite a scholar of genealogy was he. He's who created the pull. Though I think 'created' is less correct than 'caused.' His name was Liam... Liam Connelly. Or, well, that was the name he was wearing when I met him seventy-five years ago. I believe he used Brown for a while because it was so unremarkable. It let him blend in." The warm smile comes into view again. Rebecca's teeth aren't sparkling white, but neither are they decayed. They are also quite strong and apparently all there, "As to why you: well, child, because you're the one that got all the good genes, as he would have said. The smarts. The imagination. The desire to know things... and also the numbers. He saved the clippings from your Mathlete competitions, you know."

Mary just blinks and stares at Rebecca for a few moments, trying to make sense of all this. Finally she says slowly, "Let me... be sure I've got this right, okay? Some guy I'm supposed to be related to, who isn't here any -- well, let's say it: he's deceased, right? So he's never met me, but he's been... like, stalking my life? ...because he's supposedly related to me? And... what, he decided he wanted to meet me, and that was the pull? But... too late?"

"You've got some of that right," Rebecca allows. "It isn't that you're supposed to be related. You are actually related, but I understand why you're skeptical. And is it actually stalking to simply keep track of your kin and be proud of their accomplishments? I believe you did meet him once or twice, but he was very good at being inconspicuous. Protective coloring, one might say. He didn't create the pull to try to meet you. The pull started when he died. It's a way of making sure that inheritance passes on properly, you see." The rocker is squeaking softly and rhythmically as her alleged step-however-many-greats grandmother speaks, "I'll have my part of it because Liam was so very good at making sure everything legal was neat and tidy, but part of it was always meant for you -- and it can only pass on to you." She doesn't have the rambling or distant demeanor of someone that's suffering from dementia. In fact, she's got the warm, inviting surety of a teacher.

Mary studies the woman silently for several seconds... then sighs and shakes her head once, "All right, I'll bite. What did he leave me?" She frowns thoughtfully, then curiously asks, "Do you have any photos of him? Was I just a baby when we met, or might I remember him?"

"Oh, I have photos. I even have a painting or two of him. I think you were about four the first time you met him. It was at one of your father's -- forgive me for the language, but it's a quote -- 'fucking inane and mind-numbing' company picnics. The second time you couldn't have been more than fifteen." Rebecca seems to do math in her head again, "No. More like thirteen, I think. He managed to work his way into being a substitute teacher in one of your classes for a day." She starts to stand with a small sigh of effort, "I can bring out the albums if you'd like. With a mind as sharp as yours, you may well be able to recognize his face... if it's the one he wore at the time."

Mary rises reflexively when Rebecca does, feeling faintly guilty at causing the old woman any pain... but then she reminds herself that it was Rebecca, not she, who started this crazy rodeo! Politely Mary says, "Would you, please? I would appreciate that." She waits until Rebecca is in the house -- and then she runs for her car. She's got a thermos of nice iced tea that she's willing to share... and she'd really like a drink while she thinks about all this madness. Hopefully she'll be seated again once Rebecca returns, too. The old don't move very fast, after all, from what she's seen.

It does take some time for Rebecca to reappear, carrying a couple of thick, old-fashioned photo album -- so Mary has plenty of time to get settled again. The albums are the type with heavy black paper pages that you stick picture corners to, in order to keep the photos in place. The old woman sets one of the albums down on the little table by her chair, then sits carefully by Mary with the other, "Now, let's see�"

The album starts out with what looks (to Mary's unpracticed eye) to be a very old photograph which Rebecca describes as a daguerreotype, adding, "This is the first photo of him." In it, a handsome man sits in a large and comfortable chair while a solemn but lovely woman stands behind it with her hand on the back. Gathered around the two adults are several children, ranging from two very young girls sitting on the man's knees to a girl that looks to be about seventeen. They're all wearing clothes from the early middle part of the 19th century. "He was using O'Donnell then, I think. Wasn't he handsome?" Rebecca's face holds clear affection. Mary frowns, studying the blurry graphic carefully as she searches for either some hint of family connection, or personal recognition. None yet...?

The next page is a similar type of photo, but Rebecca says it's actually a tintype, "He looks a little different here�" That is a bit of an understatement. There's still a very clear resemblance to the first photo, but some of the features have changed just a little. He's not smiling, but very few people did in the old photographs. It's easier to keep your face solemn for the long exposure times. "This is when he changed his name to Brown -- John Brown, actually. There was some... unpleasantness, so he moved west for a while. This would be when he met your actual grandmother." It's just two people in the photo; Mary can see the family resemblance not in the man, but in the woman. The woman in the photo is a little less plump than Mary -- but only a little. They could almost be twins. She and the man are standing together in front of some sort of flowering tree.

Mary feels a small surge of excitement at sight of the woman, "Who, uhh... what was her name, please?"

"Virginia. She was a Johnson, but she took the name he was using. So, Virginia Brown. She usually used Ginny, he said." Rebecca is smiling at the photos as Mary silently mouths the name: 'Virginia.' Someone named Virginia was really related to her! Interestingly, apparently Rebecca feels no twinges of jealousy for what she's saying are her late husband's previous wives. One birdlike finger taps the photo corner, not wanting to touch the photograph itself, "This is the one you'd be able to find if you dig back into your family tree. He loved her very much. He said she challenged him -- stood up to him. Took none of his guff... and he did dearly love a challenge. There aren't any photos of their children, though, and they only had two. A boy and a girl." Rebecca's grey-blue eyes crinkle again, "Apparently that's how it usually works in your line: two children and two children only, per family." That, Mary knows, is quite true back as far as she knows.

Rebecca turns the next page, still speaking, "He knew threads of his line would breed true with her, he said. The first one in centuries, apparently. So, he kept an eye on the children. Of course, after a generation or so, he had to move on. He could appear to age, but even a very old human isn't going to survive two hundred years!" Mary gives the woman a curious glance, but says nothing. Some of this just makes no sense to her... but this Virginia person that looks just like her? That, Mary can sort of cling to -- like a dependable rock in the midst of all this churning madness.

Another turn of the page, and the photographs are more modern -- but only a little. These seem to be from the forties. The same man, but with slight changes to face and build. The eyes are always the same, though... as is the strong jawline. "And this is where he took the Connelly name." Rebecca's fingers gently touch the edge of the black-and-white snapshot and she smiles nostalgically, "He really was a handsome fellow." The next photo is the same type and timeframe, but he's wearing a military uniform, "He never told me how he managed to get past all the medical tests to enlist, but he had a need to fight in the war. I think it was the threat to the British Isles that did it. That's where he was from, after all. Wales, actually, for all that he was so fond of Irish and Scottish names. He said they blended better than Llewellyn or some of the others... and he did have a good grasp of accents."

The next photo makes Rebecca's eyes get shiny with unshed tears as she sniffs, then adds, "And this is us. We were courting." In it, Liam stands with his arm around a slender, petite woman wearing victory rolls, smiling happily at the camera. It only takes a glance to see it is definitely Rebecca. She sighs softly and shakes her head, "We never had any children, but that was a problem with me. At the time, the doctor said my womb just wouldn't nurture a child. Nowadays, they call it endometriosis. I would have horrible pain at my time, you know. We were sad, and I mourned not being able to give him children. It was so important then! It was then that he started telling and showing me some of the truth. Because he didn't want me to feel I was failing some kind of duty."

"'Becky,' he said, 'I have plenty of children and grandchildren. All I need from you is love.'" Rebecca sighs warmly with that tinge of mourning, "And I did love him... and he loved me. Until this year." She dabs at her eyes with a lacy little hankie, "His sort� your sort� don't sicken easily and they aren't easily harmed. Why, I once saw him get hit on the wrist by an axe my brother was swinging carelessly, and it only made a little cut! But he started having problems with his lungs. I couldn't let the doctors look at him because they would have known something was wrong, and we couldn't let that happen! So I was with him in the last months. When he passed, we arranged for a little bit of flimflam and misdirection. The records say he was cremated two counties over and his ashes scattered. In truth, he did burn, but from the inside. Dragons do that, you know, when they die."

Mary has been silently nodding as she intently studies the photos, trying to see either herself in the man's face... or a teacher she had for a single day when she was thirteen. But at that last whopper she simply turns and stares disbelievingly at the woman. It takes her a few heartbeats to gather her thoughts together and ask, "A dragon? You're trying to tell me my great-something-or-other grandfather was a dragon?" She sighs, shaking her head and setting the book of photographs gently into Rebecca's lap as she adds, "Almost... I almost was believing, weirdly enough... until that." She smiles wryly and shrugs, "But I guess it doesn't really matter what you think he was, right? You said there was some kind of inheritance or something for me. Can I get that and go, please?"

Hopefully it won't be anything too fragile, like cloth or somesuch -- she doesn't really have the means for caring for something like that. But if he has -- er, had -- a scrapbook of stuff about her, or something similar for her, she's happy to take that away with her. Still... Rebecca seems nice. Maybe... maybe it would be a kindness to check for local professionals who might be able to help her with this, um... peculiar delusion she has about her deceased husband. Mary's small smile is a bit wistful -- must be nice to have someone love you so much that they go a little mad with grief when you die.

Rebecca doesn't seem upset that Mary doesn't believe her. She simply sighs and chuckles softly, "Of course." One delicate hand reaches into the bodice of her dress and she retrieves something that Mary immediately knows is real. The pendant is a square-cut emerald in a platinum setting surrounded by small, perfect pearls. Rebecca carefully lifts the chain over her head and hands it to Mary, "Please, put it on. I would love to see how it looks on you."

"Wow!" Mary's brown eyes are huge with surprise, behind the glasses, "Rebecca, this is gorgeous! Umm... are you sure your husband wanted me to have something this, uhh... well, priceless?" Even as she says it, though, her hands are reaching out for the sparklingly exquisite necklace. She holds it almost reverently for a moment, brushing the fingertips of her free hand over the splendidly breathtaking emerald. She glances at Rebecca, but if the older woman doesn't reply immediately... Mary happily puts the heirloom on! Even if it turns out this isn't really for her, she figures she can enjoy it for the few seconds she gets to wear it. Rebecca just smiles at the question and watches the awe in Mary's face, nodding slowly. This is, after all, exactly what Rebecca was told to expect... and the next part as well.

When Mary gets the necklace around her neck, there's a weird moment of feeling that the necklace has always been hers. It simply feels right around her neck, even though she's never been one for fancy jewelry. Once it's clasped (and she can feel the chain is platinum), there's a moment of dizziness before she feels something bubbling up in her mind. It's a little foggy; not so much words as a feeling. There's a warmth in her chest, and her cheeks flush. The first sensation is much like one feels when drinking good alcohol or delicious cocoa on a cold winter's day. But then it begins to move outward, making her feel a sort of joyful, almost sensual warmth. Rebecca watches the young woman's face, smiling softly, "Ah. There we go." She stands up a little slowly, "We should go in the backyard, dear."

Mary blinks up at Rebecca, feeling very odd, "What? Uhh, we sh- er... why?"

"Because of what's likely to come next," Rebecca smiles and motions toward the side of the house, "We can go through the gate if you're nervous about coming in the house." There's a privacy fence that's at least eight feet tall, wrapped around the back yard. Mary nods slowly, feeling weird and confused... but not really upset, so she's willing to follow Rebecca. The fingers of one hand almost absently caress the stunning pendant as she walks, and she glances around with puzzlement. Why does she feel so strange? Could there be... well, like... drugs on the pendant? But... isn't that like stupid conspiracy-theory stuff? After all, who out here would care about simple, boring Mary Brown?

The gate to the backyard is well oiled and the handle is large enough for even elderly hands to handle it easily. Once past the fence, Mary is treated to even more unexpected color: flowers spill out of planters and bunch around the roots of a couple of old trees. In the center of the area is a fire pit with stone benches around it. Beside one of the benches is the sort of outdoor locker one sometimes sees for storing cushions for patio furniture. In one shady corner a little fountain spills into a lily pond. The tinkling song of the water is soothing.

A fire is laid in the fire pit -- or, well, the makings of a fire: a cone of firewood with tinder tucked beneath it. It reminds Mary of the kinds of fires she used to see in picture books before she started reading -- which was at quite a precocious age, so the memories of the picture books are a little fuzzy. She's more entranced by the flowers and the little fountain, honestly -- they look cool and lovely and peaceful... and why is she feeling so overheated right now, anyway? This is... really peculiar! Could she be coming down with something from driving for so long? That makes sense, except that she took good care of herself on the drive. Well, maybe... maybe someone sneezed on something like a door handle. Yeah. That must be it. She'll have to be careful not to cough or sneeze anywhere the strange but pleasant Rebecca might catch whatever Mary has.

Rebecca motions Mary over to the fire pit and carefully retrieves a couple of thick cushions from the little locker to set them on one of the benches, "Come, sit. We put this right in the middle so we could see everything else in the yard from here." The old woman never seems to stop smiling for very long; she seems quite serene. Really, she's treating Mary like Mary always imagined a grandmother ought to treat her grandchild -- imagined, though certainly not experienced. Mary sighs slightly. Except for one deceased grandfather who was, in her father's scornful words, "eccentric," the others had been entirely susceptible to -- and absorbed by -- Candi's effortless charm.

But enough of that! Mary is her own person now, and proud of it! She moves over to sit on the big cushion, murmuring quiet thanks as she watches Rebecca settle down nearby. She wonders what's going on... maybe there's some other item here that's part of the inheritance? Though considering the likely worth of this necklace, she's been outrageously gifted already!

As they sit, Rebecca points out flowers, telling Mary their names. The warmth continues to build in Mary's chest, though, until on one outward breath she actually sees mist! Or... wait, no -- she feels entirely too warm for her breath to be causing mist. But... what else could it be? It's not cold enough for the usual puff of condensed air one sees in winter, and the only alternative Mary can think of is smoke -- and she doesn't smoke! She's always been disgusted by how stinky cigarettes are. Mary frowns confusedly, her eyes almost crossing for a moment as she tries reflexively to look down at herself... and then she experimentally huffs a breath outward, trying to figure out what's going on here. She's careful, of course, to turn her head away from facing Rebecca as she does so -- sharing germs would be impolite! With the concentration on her breath, the puff of smoke is much larger.

Rebecca smiles, "Thank you for looking that way. You're a very courteous young woman." With that second puff of smoke, Mary can feel heat rising in her throat. It's not at all uncomfortable or unpleasant. It really does have that lovely feeling of something warm and soothing to drink... like hot tea on a cold day with a sore throat. She blinks, though, distracted by Rebecca -- then amazedly asks, "Did you see that?! It was like... like smoke?" Bewilderedly she adds, "I -- I don't smoke, though!"

Rebecca's laugh is warm, "Well, not in the way you're thinking. Here, look toward the fire pit, down at the kindling. Have you ever been camping? Or had a fireplace that you could sit by on a really cold night?"

Mary grimaces slightly, remembering the subtle agony of never fitting in with any of the other Girl Scouts -- yet being forced to attend regardless, due to parental hopes of finding some athletic sport or outdoorsy event she liked and could use for exercise. She sighs, shaking her head once at herself, and politely replies, "Yes, we had a nice fireplace. I'd read by it when Dad occasionally built a fire there." She studies the fire pit thoughtfully... she's pretty sure that beautifully laid little cone of kindling is precisely what her Girl Scout troop leaders struggled so unsuccessfully to teach her, in fact. The rueful thought brings a faint, unhappy smile to her face.

Rebecca sees the flash of pain on Mary's face and pats her hand softly, "Do something for me, then. Think of the nicest time you ever sat in front of a fire -- maybe with your favorite book, on a really cold night? Think of the sound of the flames and the smell of wood smoke." She holds up a finger, "But! You need to lean toward the wood and take a deep breath and then let it out just like you did a minute ago when you saw that puff of smoke."

Mary raises an eyebrow at Rebecca -- lean in towards the fire pit? This has all the trappings of yet another painful prank -- which was always followed, of course, by the laughingly derisive demand, "Can't you take a joke? It was just a joke, sheesh!" She sighs tiredly, missing the little puff of smoke that ensues due to closing her eyes. Well... if it is simply another practical joke, she can leave now. She isn't stuck at the campsite for the weekend anymore. So... all right, favorite time by a fire. Hmm... probably that night when Mom went to pick Dad up at the airport from his business trip, and Candi went with her, but Mary had begged off due to having unfinished homework still. Eyes still closed, Mary smiles slightly. It had actually been a wonderfully relaxing couple of hours of peace and quiet all to herself. She'd finished her homework -- honestly, there hadn't been that much -- then settled down contentedly by the little fire to reread one of her favorite books: C.S. Lewis' The Horse & His Boy. Narnia had always been a safe place for her to escape to during her childhood -- one of several fantasy realms she loved without reservation.

Mary realizes she's about to tear up a little from the memory -- and she sure doesn't want that to happen in front of a stranger, no matter how sweet Rebecca is being! The young woman opens her eyes, looking directly at the little fire pit, and sighs gustily as she wistfully remembers that small moment of peace and tranquility.

The gusty sigh brings a sweet rush of heat up along her throat, and as it crosses her lips there's first smoke, and then a warm whoosh of fire. It doesn't burn at all. It feels completely natural -- and the tongue of flame reaches just about perfectly to the little nest of kindling, starting it smoking and then making little pinpricks of light spread through it. Mary yelps in shock, almost falling off the bench as she jerks back! Then she stares goggle-eyed at the fire pit -- that was fire! Real FIRE -- from her!! Still staring in shock, she lightly touches her lips with her fingertips, checking to see if she's burnt herself. She doesn't feel any pain but -- but wow! That... this is so far beyond the norm for her that she's speechless!

Rebecca watches with crinkled eyes and a playful little smile, "That fire is what works from the inside out when a dragon dies. It will do that when you die... hopefully centuries from now and having lived a full and wonderful life. Liam left some instructions for you about how to control it. He wrote them down."

Mary's boggled stare slowly switches from the fire pit... to Rebecca. She's so shocked still that she has trouble coming up with words! "Uhhh... huh?" Then she winces -- sheesh, way to sound like a moron! She swallows and tries again, "Um, okay? I -- I mean... uhmm, thank you?" Her fascinated gaze shifts back to the tiny but growing fire. That was... her! She did that! Wait... is she going mad? Experimentally she takes a breath, then tries it again -- can she make more fire, or was that just a fluke, or... or a hallucination?

She can indeed make more fire -- and since she's concentrating on actually producing fire rather than having Rebecca give her good images to bring her mind to it, the flames flicker out further. They lick at the actual firewood and start them charring and crackling. Rebecca's voice is gentle again, "Be careful. Doing that too much can wear you out, especially when you're young. Liam was quite old and already knew his limits."

Mary blinks mutely at Rebecca, one hand covering her mouth as she nods. She struggles for words, finally coming up with, "I don't -- I mean, will I -- does it -- uhhh, w-words? Like, just speaking? That won't make it... make me flame, will it? Uhm... does that make sense?"

Rebecca smiles, "I've seen little flickers in Liam's mouth when he was really angry or really excited, but most of the time there wasn't even a hint of smoke. As I said, he left you instructions. A diary, really." She starts to stand up again, taking her cushion to put it away, "Do you feel comfortable coming inside now? I've also got the guest room made up in case you didn't have a place to stay tonight. I knew to expect you sometime within a couple of months after Liam passed. He told me you'd be drawn here."

Mary stands up jerkily, grabbing her cushion and moving to help Rebecca put them both away. Abruptly her mental blockage eases -- there's a book! One that will help! "Yes, please, ma'am, I'd be happy to stay the night and can I see the diary soonest, please? Oh! Also, I'm happy to, um -- c-can I buy you dinner to say thanks? Or... something? Please?"

"You can buy me dinner to say thank you if you'd like, dear," Rebecca smiles fondly at Mary, "When we get inside, I'll show you to the room and get the diary for you."

Rebecca leads Mary inside the house, and the bemused young woman stares around herself in interest as she follows the older woman in. The furniture all looks old, well-made, beautiful, and unique. It's obvious that none of it was bought at a mass-market store. The bookcases (which take up almost all the wall space) have heavy shelves and hold a bewildering array of books on many subjects... everything from heavy, leather-bound tomes to mass-market paperbacks. There are pictures here and there on the shelves, and surprisingly little bric-a-brac. There are two comfortable-looking reading chairs in one corner. One is obviously Rebecca's, if one goes by size and the delicate flower print. The dragon's widow goes to the shelf nearest those chairs and pulls out a leather-bound book with no title; she smiles as she hands it to Mary, "You may find other thoughts and such in there. He wrote down many things."

Rebecca settles into the chair that looks like it is probably hers, and motions Mary to the other. That one is a sturdy leather armchair of the sort one might see in the type of club that didn't admit women until they were ordered to by law -- a large chair, smelling comfortably of leather and some subtle, pleasant, woodsy cologne. Mary accepts the book with bemused wonder... then sinks down absently into the other reading chair.

The pages inside are thick, with deckled edges. The paper is obviously beautifully handmade -- it appears Liam appreciated things people put effort and love into. The writing is old-fashioned. It is, in fact, what Mary knows from reading and research to be copperplate. The flowing, elaborate letters are in a color of ink that looks more sepia than black, and are easy and pleasurable to read. The first couple of pages seem to be something of a greeting:

Dear Mary,
as I write this, I have just seen you sitting beneath a tree in your front yard, no doubt hiding from Candi (and who calls a child that age a name like that? It's brainless, demeaning, and devoid of meaning!) and her friends. That little mob of screaming suburbanites-to-be gave me a headache, so I'm sure they are a terror and a trial to you. I think you are about eight years old just now. The book you were reading was "The Silver Chair." I have exceptionally sharp eyes... and besides, I recognised the cover art....

Mary blinks, abruptly flashing back to that moment -- and her eyes inexplicably well up with tears. To think someone saw her then and was sympathetic to her! But... if he was, then why didn't he let her know he was related to her? Or at least an old family friend? Dear heavens but she could have used a friend then... especially once who appreciated The Silver Chair... Mary blinks again as she remembers her absolute favorite part of the story: that moment when the bound prince is finally in his right mind (though that state is believed to be part of his madness) and begs to be untied... and uses the code phrase which Eustace, Jill, and Puddleglum recognize from Aslan's earlier warnings. The three of them fear the prince will slay them in his madness if he's freed -- but they decide to trust in the code phrase which Aslan gave them... and they cut him free.

Mary smiles faintly, remembering the story with fondness -- it had been the right thing to do, but it had changed all their lives. So... is this her moment? Will this book be her 'code phrase' that, when trusted in, changes her life irrevocably? She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes for courage... then doggedly reads on. Yes, this may ruin the life she's built for herself, but darnit! Sometimes... sometimes you just have to take the leap -- and have faith!

As if the thought of it reached back over the years:

I did so love that the children and Puddleglum had such faith in Aslan because they knew he was good (and you probably figured out somewhere along the line that he was a Christ analogue, and the true spirit of that man has always been trust and love and to hell with those that have used someone that preached forgiveness to hate people... but I digress...) and that he had never led them astray before. Faith like that, unshakeable and pure and real... that is rare and precious today. There are two types of faith now: faith in science and faith in god. How have they never seen that both are the same thing...
Ahh, I am old and wandering in my mind. I did not approach you then because a strange man walking up to a child alone is understandably looked askance. But I could see the joy in your face.

Rebecca smiles as she watches Mary reading the book that was written just for her. Mary sighs quietly; while she understands why Liam didn't walk up, she's still not sure why he didn't try something like becoming a family friend. Well, maybe the diary will explain it later. She continues reading:

I have tried, a few times through your childhood, to find some way to make my way into your family's good graces. After all, a few generations back one of your forebears was my child -- but you would not believe how snobbish middle-class people can be. And how untrusting! But I have kept my eye on you and I shall continue to do so....

The next entry is obviously a few years later:

Mary, my dear, how on earth (or any other planet!) have you not smothered your sister in her sleep? Or run away to join the circus? Or just simply run away?

Mary giggles in spite of herself as she reads that bit! Then she continues:

Today, I have just come home after risking being thought a creepy old man (and I do think I begin to look old despite my species' longevity...) by surreptitiously watching the school field trip to the Smithsonian Art Museum. You were looking dreamy and transfixed as you lagged a little behind the group and truly appreciated the Calder mobile and the bronze ballerinas... Candi (and again, what were your parents thinking? Something went badly wrong with their upbringing and I regret that I kept my distance...) and her friends -- the very same ones, I think -- were laughing and talking about how weird the art was. As if they would know art if it bit them on the... but I digress (again, I know, you'll get used to it...)
Please, my treasured granddaughter, if I do not find a way to be in your life, forgive me. You are very dear to my heart and you are growing into a thoughtful, creative, smart, and wonderful woman.

It's beginning to be obvious that this is less a diary and more a book of letters which Liam wrote to Mary as she grew up. Mary sighs and relaxes a bit -- so he did try! That, oddly enough, makes her feel better. She continues reading, hoping there'll be some bits about how to be a dragon too.

The letters go on through the years. Some of them tell stories and some comment on Liam's pride in her accomplishments. Here and there are clippings. They are not laid directly against the pages, but wrapped carefully in parchment paper to keep the acids from eating away at the book's sheets. After perhaps an hour of reading, Rebecca speaks quietly, "The instructions are near the back of the book, I believe, dear."

Mary blinks a bit myopically at Rebecca, pulling her head back to the present... then nods once and notes the page she's on before eagerly turning to the back. What curious and fascinating things will she learn? Are all the old stories about dragons false -- or perhaps only partially true? She'd always wondered why dragons were inevitably portrayed as evil in the stories she read as a child -- until she stumbled across the more Asian conceptualizations of dragons. How wonderful and marvelous those had seemed to her!

About two-thirds of the way through the book, Liam's letters start to obviously be to Mary as an adult. Congratulations on her high school and college graduations... on his pleasure in their shared love of numbers and puzzles. Then there's this:

I begin to think, dearest darling Mary, that it is coming to the time when you will need to know who you are. I have known for some years that you have (and please forgive what might sound like animal husbandry terms) 'bred true' to my line. It has been many generations since that has happened, and that means you will need knowledge and instructions...

He goes on to explain that he is part of a council of beings who try to keep a balance between the esoteric world and those of normal humans. The way he writes, it sounds like the arrangement is to keep both communities safe. After all, dragons were painted as evil in the western world, in an attempt to drive wedges between Liam's people and the humans that worked with and for them. As long as humans believed in and walked amongst dragons, fae, and other fabulous creatures, the Church (and Liam had much to say about how the churches twisted and perverted so many good lessons; he also believed Jesus himself might have been some sort of fantastical being) would not be able to keep its stranglehold.

You, dearest Mary, will take my seat on that council. You will be well-suited to it. You have the mind to think around corners, and to understand when one should have faith (as the children and Puddleglum did), and when to be suspicious. Those are much-needed skills.

He goes on to enumerate things she will need to be careful of, and to name the other council members.

Toward the end of the writing (but not the end of the pages), Liam's letters start to sound worried. They begin to talk in intense words about needing her to know things, and how to use them. The very last letter says:

Dearest, dearest Mary
As I write this, I am barely able to walk and my eyesight is fading. I fear I shall soon leave my beloved Rebecca alone. She knows to expect you within a couple of months of my dying. It is how it goes. If your draconic nature does not manifest before then, it will do so when I die.
I am betrayed. I know such words are used frivolously now, but they are deadly serious amongst all the people holding themselves apart from the workaday world. I have been murdered. My death is taking some time, it's true, but it comes. I burn from the inside. My dearest and oldest companion -- the flame inside me -- eats me. It is always thus when we die. It does not hurt, so much as feel like a great weakening.

Mary raises an eyebrow. She -- meek little Mary Brown -- is going to march into some random collection of ancient, tricksy, and arcane creatures out of mythology... and announce that she gets to sit with them?! Uhh, no! That's a no-brainer, as far as she's concerned! As the saying goes: she's not expendable, she's not stupid, and she's not going! Then Mary gets to the part about betrayal... and she shivers. So the creatures on this council really are freaking dangerous -- they even murder each other with apparent impunity! She sighs and continues reading:

My darling granddaughter, when you come, Rebecca will give you this book. She will give you as much of my story as she knows, and she will give you a gift and a package. The package is part of why I was murdered, and it needs to be taken to a true friend. You will find him in Coblyn Street. To get there, you will need the map that hangs on my study wall. It is a very old map, but I have preserved it carefully. You will be able to use it. It is one of the very few ways you can reach the place.

He goes on to give her a name -- Elias -- and a description of what sounds like a normal human... aside from the fact that he has fangs and cannot go out in the daylight:

He does not sleep, so you can find him during the day, but you will have to go to him.

There are directions on how to get to Elias' home, followed by:

Please, my dear, be safe. Elias will bring you to the Council to be sworn in. I know you will not let me down, and I know you will help find out who has done this to me. Further, know that even if I never managed to meet you more than in passing, you have always been in my heart.
Elias will keep you safe, but he needs the thing I am sending to find and punish the traitor. If you find you cannot go beyond taking Elias the package, know that I am still proud of you and still love you deeply. If you simply wish to live your life in peace, that is your choice. I hope you will not simply settle for a day-to-day job and the stifling security that comes with it. But there is peace to be found beyond that... and you, my dear child, are the inheritor of a great many things. Rebecca will show you the material ones.
I love you.

Those are the last words.

Mary blinks several times at the end of the book, and the writing blurs in her slightly teary eyesight. Finally she rubs her eyes behind her glasses, and sighs, deeply torn. On the one hand, she'd love to be all brave and strong and ferocious and dragonish like her greatly-many grandfather! -- but on the other hand... she's quite well aware that she may be able to balance numbers well and breathe fire (a heartbeat to marvel at that! No, wait -- focus here!)... but she's still nothing more than a pretentious and only potentially mildly amusing toddler, to entities that live for centuries. She sits there, staring off unseeingly into the distance as she dithers mentally... then sighs thoughtfully again as she decides. She can at least take the package to this guy who sounds suspiciously like a vampire -- but she'll do it during the daytime, definitely! Heck, she should probably see if she can get some holy water and a cross and... what else -- garlic? -- and take that with her for just in case.

Rebecca smiles softly, watching Mary's face as the tears come, "I felt much the same, dear. I think I will miss him the rest of my life."

Mary nods firmly to herself, then pulls out her cell phone and snaps a few photos of some of the pages -- the ones about things to be careful of, names and descriptions of council members, and the information on Elias. After that she looks up at Rebecca. Clearing her throat a bit self-consciously, she asks, "You, uhh... you have a package for me?"

Rebecca smiles and carefully gets to her feet, "In here, in his study... with the map he wrote about." She leads Mary down a hallway -- which has even more bookcases! -- to a small, somewhat crowded, but comfortable room. Sitting on the heavy oaken desk is a perfectly cubic box wrapped in actual brown paper and twine. There's another thing on the desk as well: a small, old-fashioned doctor's bag. Mary follows Rebecca into the study, glancing around first for the map... and then for any marks of personality that might help her know her grandfather better.

The map is a gorgeous piece of hand-drawn art showing Boston as it was centuries ago. There is something taped to the top of the frame and carefully rolled up. It looks suspiciously like the sort of acetate they used to make 'transparencies' out of, to be used on an overhead projector -- before PowerPoint. Around the room are little signs of Liam's personality: a bowler hat on a coat tree/hat stand in the corner... an old-fashioned blotter and a set of six beautiful fountain pens on the desk -- quite likely precisely what he used to write in his diary/letter book. On the bookshelves (because of course there are more bookshelves in here) Mary sees mostly fiction and fairy tales -- everything from Grimm to LeGuin. Some of the shelves hold whimsical little carvings; here and there are pictures of Mary. They are always of her achievements or, in one or two cases, copies of school photos. It's a better timeline of her life than her parents ever kept. Rebecca speaks quietly, "He talked about you often. He adored you from the distance he had to keep."

Mary blushes, both flattered and slightly disturbed at seeing her life so recognized. She moves quickly -- and a bit awkwardly, due to embarrassment -- over to the map, "This, uhh... should the rolled-up bit be laid over the map?"

Rebecca's kind face smiles sadly, "I know this must be odd for you. It was hard to watch him mourn not being able to be in your life." Then she nods and laughs, "Yes. The original map isn't quite so accurate anymore." The old woman rolls the transparency over the map to reveal a more modern street map that will let Mary find her way to the neighborhood of Coblyn Street.

Mary studies the map with great curiosity -- then remembers herself and takes several snapshots from different angles, so there's no reflection spoiling her ability to read the map. After that she sighs deeply again, putting away her cell... then turns to face Rebecca and the desk again, "So, that... the package?" She pauses, watching Rebecca silently for a few heartbeats... then softly asks, "Are you... will you be safe?"

Rebecca starts to take the map off the wall, smiling, "The map is part of your inheritance, dear. He's kept it well-preserved. You can handle it without worrying about damage." She blinks at the question and smiles, eyes a little shiny, "Yes, child. Liam kept me safe. The only thing I have to fear is time."

Mary nods slowly, still somewhat troubled... but she accepts the map carefully, "Um... let me take this out to the... wait, uh, what time is it, please?"

Rebecca points to the old-fashioned cuckoo clock on the wall, "Late enough that it's past dinnertime, but not quite bedtime."

After a moment of thought Mary realizes Rebecca had the right idea -- spending the night here will mean Mary can hear more stories of Liam, sleep well and safely, and then leave bright and early in the morning. Indeed, the two women find pleasant relaxation as Mary listens with fascination to Rebecca's wistfully smiling reminiscences of her husband. Before they go to bed for the night, Rebecca gives Mary the doctor's bag and smiles, almost shy, "Liam said you would need this if you were to go -- as he put it -- 'haring off' to do what he asked."

Mary blinks at the bag she's holding, then smiles uncertainly at Rebecca, "Er... thank you? Well, I mean... um, actually, I guess I should just look, right?" She laughs a bit sheepishly, then heads off to the room Rebecca has loaned her for the night. Her suitcase is there already -- she brought it in earlier -- but she sits down for a moment to curiously examine the doctor's bag and its contents. The bag is well-kept, but obviously old. It, like many things in the house, is sturdy and classic. When Mary opens it... well... she's probably never seen that much actual currency in one place. Nor has she seen... is that actual gold? Mary blinks in astonishment! Cautiously she reaches in a hand, touching a fingertip to the brightly colored metal. Gold... good heavens, what is she going to do with gold?! She can't suddenly sell this much without facing extremely difficult questions regarding potential theft! A heartbeat later it hits her: she can't do so here... in the mundane world. Maybe, though... maybe in the magical world gold is a viable currency?

Mary sighs thoughtfully as she carefully closes the doctor's bag and sets it aside. She gets ready for bed, moving almost on automatic as she thinks furiously... and once she's done she settles into the comfortable old bed, under the clearly handmade quilt, and lays both the map and the diary before her. She spends some time studying the map and comparing it with her cell phone -- carefully tracing a finger along the roads that radiate outwards from Coblyn until she finds a large enough road that her GPS recognizes it. After that she tries to follow the roads back in towards Coblyn, but this time on her cell.

Mary frowns, perplexed -- Coblyn Street doesn't seem to exist on her cell phone! But that... surely can't be right? Her great plus grandfather wouldn't send her on a wild goose chase, would he? She thinks for a moment, then sets aside her phone and goes back to the diary. Flipping through to the page about the package which needs delivery, she reads carefully through it and onwards...

Coblyn Street, Boston, USA
Trap streets are a copyright insurance. Cartographers used to add nonexistent streets to their maps to catch people trying to pass off someone else's work as their own. As electronic maps took over, trap streets became less common, since the mapping software worked on city plans and on GPS and satellite imagery.
There was only one catch: some trap streets were actual streets -- actual, but extremely difficult to find. The old maps that showed them were one of only three ways you could find them. The first was to have the map itself and to follow it very carefully. The second was to have someone that had been there lead you in. The third was having already been brought there from one of the first two methods and thus becoming one of the people in the second method. These streets didn't even show up on satellite imagery -- though that trick had been one hastily pulled together when satellites with scarily good cameras had first appeared.
Coblyn Street is one of the oldest trap streets in one of the oldest cities in the United States. Its crooked, cobblestoned length is shown on only a handful of still-extant maps and most of those are either in private cartography collections, in the special collections sections of old libraries, or in the hands of people who deal in esoteric knowledge. Most of its denizens have lived there for decades, if not centuries. They are used to living cheek-by-jowl because being crowded is much, much better than being exposed to the normal, workaday humans of the city. Some of them even prefer being packed close.
The beings that are unable to pass for human or as a 'natural' animal -- goblins, sprites, and other such -- take refuge there, only venturing out late into the night or with some other protection. The ones that could, with some small amount of disguise, pass for human or animal -- the Seelie and Unseelie, the Germanic elves, the werewolves, and such -- move in and out more freely. They act as envoys, traders, and protectors -- and, at times, as spies and mercenaries.
Keeping the street safe has required some finagling and some fiddling about with permits and with people's minds. Beacon Hill has become gentrified, but there are enough people wanting to preserve the old-school charm of the place that Coblyn Street is in no real danger of being damaged or destroyed.

Mary is quietly fascinated. She reads a bit more, but fairly rapidly realizes she's tired and has a tremendous amount of data to mentally digest! Her sleep that night is deep and full of perplexing dreams which she can't quite remember when she awakens the next dawn.

The next morning, Rebecca makes breakfast. It's a very 'full English' kind of breakfast -- there are even beans served with it. She laughs warmly, "It's what Liam liked in the morning. He never had to worry about cholesterol, after all." Mary enjoys a very pleasant time with Rebecca over breakfast. When she's leaving she even gives the strange, sweet old woman a quick hug, thanking Rebecca sincerely for all her kindness and patience. After that Mary heads off in her car, obscurely excited -- though not so much that she forgets to pick up some garlic bagels and a little cross pendant at a small strip mall. She drives carefully -- Boston is confusing to drive in during the best of times, after all! -- and manages to get quite close to Coblyn Street before she realizes she's going to have to park and walk the rest of the way in.

Mary sighs at that and revises her plans slightly. She finds a nearby park and sits for a bit so she can eat a garlic bagel -- she's already wearing the cross pendant under her T-shirt. After that she shifts everything into the trunk of her car so it's not visible to potential thieves, with the sole exceptions of her bag and the package that needs delivering. She figures she'll use her cell phone photos to find Coblyn Street now... a girl walking around with an archaic map would likely excite suspicion, after all!

As Mary gets back into her car, then drives closer to Coblyn Street, she starts to notice people are walking a little more toward the curb than the buildings. It's not like they're swerving hugely, but the stream of foot traffic has a subtle curve. Mary tilts her head a bit puzzledly at that, wondering what's up. Well, she'll maybe find out once she's out and walking too! She locates a good parking spot and feeds the meter, then takes up her bag and parcel. Moments later she's walking along towards Coblyn Street, following the directions on her cell phone. She wonders, as she walks, whether the pedestrian curve is a means of encouraging people to miss the turn into Coblyn? Hmm... have to watch out for that.

If Mary looks up from the map, her eyes seem to want to slip sideways out toward the main street. Mary blinks when that registers, pausing and stepping to the side so she's not blocking other pedestrians... then taking a moment to test that perception. Is it really happening? Can she force her eyes to look towards the buildings? With wry amusement she hopes none of the buildings fronting this street are businesses -- they'd be closed within a month if so!

It's apparently mostly apartments fronting the street... except they look a little too neat and standard. If she looks up from the map for more than about fifteen seconds, too, she gets distracted. If she keeps flicking her eyes back to the map, though, she seems to be able to keep close to the wall. Mary nods thoughtfully to herself and does so -- she doesn't want to miss the turn-off to Coblyn Street, after all! She wonders if the apartments are real... or the wall was just sort of made to look like apartments, with the addition of apparent windows with curtains close-drawn behind them.

The opening onto Coblyn Street is narrow -- there's no way most cars would make it in. The street is neatly cobbled and clean. There's that same idiosyncratic thing, though: if she looks up from her map for more than a few seconds, she gets the urge to wander back to the sidewalk -- and that keeps up for about twenty feet. After that twenty feet, though, the street opens up a bit, wide enough for a two lane road -- if it weren't for the fact that the street's sides have stalls and tents and lean-tos and all other manner of things one would expect to find at a street market. There are bright, cheerful colors in places, and greys and browns in others. She hears a lot of very loud voices in a lot of different tones, and at least five different languages. Some of the stalls are obviously temporary -- this might well be a market day, such as the farmers markets that pop up in almost every city and town between May and September. But there's a lot more for sale than just produce.

Mary blinks slowly as she looks around, going still in shock as it registers: she's walked into a goblin market! For a moment there's a flare of anger inside herself -- why didn't her grandfather warn her about this danger?! Then she takes a deep breath, grits her teeth... and studies the map carefully. Where is this Elias person located? Best to get to him as quickly as possible -- and to refuse anything and everything she may be offered here!

Apparently Liam didn't see the market as a danger... possibly because street markets like these have always been a part of the background for him. The instructions to find Elias actually mention shops and idiosyncratic landmarks such as 'turn left at the patch of red-and-purple cobbles.' Further, people are definitely offering things -- or at least offering them for sale, and trying to lure passersby over. The passersby are actually... when Mary looks up, the first pair of eyes she meets are well over a foot higher than her head and seem to belong to a... a... a bipedal bear?! The bear is dressed incongruously in jeans and a flannel shirt and carrying a large basket piled with goods. Mary blinks startledly, her jaw dropping as she stares without meaning to. The bear looks down at Mary with its head tipped to the side, then chuckles. The voice is low and rumbling, "First time here?" At least it doesn't seem to be offended...?

Mary blushes hotly, hastily jerking her gaze away! She stares down at the cobblestones, mumbling, "I'm so sorry! Uh... yeah... sorry, sorry! Um... right. Right! Excuse me, I'm really sorry, don't mind me!" She hastily studies the map, then continues determinedly forward, "Okay... okay, I can do this..."

There's another of those friendly, rumbling chuckles, "Nothing to be sorry for. I'm a startling sight the first time, milaya." There's laughter at that, and a voice calls, "Leave her be, Ivan! You scared her!" The voice is coming from the stall the bear is standing in front of. "He doesn't bite, child, even with teeth like daggers." Mary suspects even her ears are red by now! She keeps her head bent over the map, determined not to mortify herself any further. Her searching for landmarks consists of quick, surreptitious glances from side to side, and she tries her hardest to seem small and innocuous -- not worth noticing. It worked in her family, after all! She has no idea how much it makes her stand out here.

It really does make her stand out. After all, there is no one so conspicuous as someone trying really hard to look inconspicuous. Unfortunately, not only is Mary looking conspicuous, she's also looking oblivious. That attracts even more attention from a certain set of people -- which is why there's a sudden, rough jerk at her bag that whirls her more than halfway around as someone darting past her tries to steal it. In that same moment there's a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye and then the thud of a body on the cobbles. It all happens within a handful of seconds and then a warm, mellifluous voice says, "You okay?"

Mary yelps startledly as she's swung violently around, her arm still through the bag's strap. She gasps and almost falls, and is still staggering slightly when someone speaks to her. She's not quite sure what was said, and she hasn't yet recovered her equilibrium -- so when she swings around to stare blankly at the speaker, all that comes out of her mouth is, "Uh... wha...?"

When she stumbles, a steadying hand goes to her shoulder, and the man asks again, "Are you okay?" The face belonging to the voice is too obviously masculine to be called pretty, but it is stunning in the lines and planes. It's the sort of face most people only see on TV or in ads. Pale skin with dark, dark brows, and amber eyes -- slightly too brown to be called yellow. The hair is also jet black and seems to be pulled back and caught at the base of the man's skull in a loose ponytail. It's his left hand that's on her shoulder... because he's got an actual sword in the right, the tip of which rests delicately in the hollow of the would-be mugger's throat. Said mugger is wearing a t-shirt and ragged jeans, can't be over four and a half feet tall, and looks like he might be made out of knobbly branches. The man who's asking her if she's okay is wearing something that might have come out of a Renfaire -- a loose, ivory linen shirt with a drape of tartan over it... the same tartan as the kilt he's wearing.

Mary blinks -- and once again finds herself simply staring, jaw dropped. Finally she manages a weak, "Uhh... hi?"

The man smiles, "I'm going to take that as 'Not quite okay, but not injured.'" He looks down at the would-be mugger and says in a flat and serious voice, "If I catch you trying to do that again, you'll be up on charges." The sword flicks away from his throat and into its scabbard in one fluid movement, "Now, scoot!" -- and scoot the would-be purse-snatcher does, not even daring to look back.

Mary stares silently after the, er... knobbly thing? "Um... wh-what was that, please?" Then she looks back at the young man, her voice hopeful as she tests a theory, "...Elias?" Then she frowns thoughtfully, staring at the young man's mouth. She doesn't remember fangs, but... hm... maybe not?

The man with the amber eyes and the kilt looks after the attacker, "That was Cronan... and he's a pickpocket and a thief." There's a flash of very white (and not fanged) teeth as the man adds, "And he's a boggle." Then the amber eyes blink as he replies, "No. Not Elias. I'm Shane. You're looking for Elias?" His eyes flicker over Mary -- from the bag Cronan tried to snatch, to the eight-inch square box.

Mary mouths silently, 'boggle' as she nods slowly... but then she remembers herself. She straightens up a bit and takes a deep breath before saying politely, "Thank you, er, Mr. Shane, for your assistance. Um, yes? Looking for Elias, I mean?"

Shane's teeth flash in a smile again. It's really quite a nice smile. It makes his face go from something too lovely to be real, to an actual person. It makes the corners of his amber eyes crinkle, "Just Shane. It's not a problem. I'm sort of the unofficial sheriff of these parts." He puts a little drawl in the last bit, and the nearest stallholder laughs and says with an Irish brogue, "An' ee's only unofficial because he willnae allow 'em t' saddle 'im wi' tha job!" Shane snorts, "Get along wi' ye!" Then he looks back at Mary, nodding, "Then let me get you to him." He adds, "Best to keep any bags across your body with the bag in front. Stops Cronan and the like from snatching them."

Mary blinks again, shoving her glasses back up onto her nose and trying not to stare again, "Er, thank you, uh, Shane?" She hastily shifts her bag as directed, then clutches the box nervously to herself with both arms, "O- uh, okay... I'm ready?"

Shane guides Mary down Coblyn Street for at least a quarter mile. He greets people and is greeted... and there's a huge range of people that greet him. Every once in a while he glances over at Mary, checking to make sure she's not in shock. When they come to the patch of red-and-purple cobbles mentioned in Liam's directions, Shane motions to a set of stairs going downward, "Basement apartment. Safest for him. Do you need me to go down there with you?"

Mary tags along after Shane like a fascinatedly bemused duckling, trying to keep her head down yet as often as not finding herself staring around in astonishment at the wild variety of peoples she's seeing! She blinks at the stairs, her voice small, "Is he... really a vampire? Is he, er... dangerous?"

Shane's dark brows go up as he replies, "Yes, he is... and no, he isn't. Not unless he's in danger. Are you planning on hurting him?" The last question seems casual, but there's an intensity to his expression that says he's listening very closely to her answer.

Mary stares in astonishment at Shane, "M-me?!" She winces slightly at the squeak in her voice, but then laughs nervously and tries again, "Are you, um, serious?! Like... what am I going to do to him... use harsh language?!"

Shane's smile is still warm because he can tell Mary has no intention of hurting Elias, "Well, you've got garlic on your breath... which isn't a bad thing. I love garlic myself... and that's sometimes a sign of someone trying to play on a mistaken idea of a vampire's weakness. Garlic does nothing... and Elias is quite old and a very good friend." He lays his hand on her shoulder again, "I believe you. Come on." He goes down the stairs and knocks on a heavy door. There are windows on either side, but they're covered in heavy black drapes, and there's an awning casting a shadow over the doorway.

Mary blushes slightly, dropping her gaze, "I, uh... I did-" She squeaks nervously at the touch, hastily following Shane down the stairs. She glances around tensely at all the shades, and tries to reassure herself: it's just to keep the sun out! Not ominous at all... really!

There's a few moments before the door opens to show Elias -- who looks like the most inoffensive person on the planet. He actually looks a bit like an elementary school teacher whose idea of chic got stalled somewhere around 1976. His skin is exceptionally pale, though -- pale enough to show blue traceries of veins in places. When he flashes a warm and welcoming smile at Shane, there are indeed fangs -- every tooth in his mouth is sharp! His accent is Slavic of some sort, "Shane, my friend! What brings you to see me today?"

Mary twitches nervously back, her eyes huge -- and a second later she has to fiercely repress the urge to blurt out, 'what big TEETH you have, Grandmother!' Shane smiles and steps in to exchange hugs with the vampire, chuckling warmly, "I bring you a visitor by way of an attempted mugging." He steps slightly to the side and says, "Mary, Elias. Elias, Mary. She has something for you." Elias hugs Shane back and blinks owlishly at Mary... then his eyes narrow and he digs a pair of rectangular reading glasses out of a pocket to peer at her, "Do I know you from somewhere?"

Mary finds herself leaning despite herself, so as to remain half behind Shane's protective form. She shakes her head several times in tongue-tied, wide-eyed reply to his query... then remembers herself a bit -- she came to deliver a package, right! She shoves the box forward at the... at the... OMG, he really is a v-va-vam-vam- stop! She blinks and takes a deep breath, then in a voice that almost squeaks, nervously blurts out all in one breath, "Hello Elias pleasure to meet you this is for you thank you very much I must go now thanks!" Mary sighs in internal exasperation at herself -- well, that was smooth! Not! Bother. Why couldn't she be more like her mother and sister... even a little bit? Just enough to not look like a total dork all the time?!

A gentle but firm hand rests on Mary's shoulder, stopping her from scampering off into the afternoon. Shane is smiling as he murmurs, "Wait. Give him a second to look at the package." He believes Mary doesn't intend Elias harm, but the sender of the package might. Elias takes it carefully and looks it over. There's another of those owlish blinks, "This is... is this from Liam? How do you know Liam?" Shane also blinks at the name and examines Mary with consideration.

Mary is almost wringing her hands together, she's so nervous by this point! "M-muh-my g-g-great-great! Uh, he. I mean, Liam -- is he. My many-grandsfather." She's not sure why, but tears well up in her eyes, "H-h-he, he... he's dead! I n-n-never got to meet him!" She realizes with horror that the tears aren't just welling up -- they're now rolling down her cheeks and she's sobbing and she's not sure why -- she covers her face with her hands but the sobs won't stop and without thinking she turns and leans into the closest friendly person. Later she'll be mortified about getting Shane's shirt soggy... but right now she's just terribly scared and alone-feeling.

Shane's expression softens as Mary turns to him and begins to sob against his broad chest. He wraps his arms around her and murmurs to her in a language she's quite sure isn't English. "Shhh... beidh se ceart go leor..." He's even petting her hair. In fact, he's holding onto her like she's something precious and fragile. Later on, he'll assure her that a few tears never hurt anything. Elias watches this with a stricken look on his face. Liam was, after all, a dear friend. "Oh. Oh, dear. Shane, bring her in. We must get her some tea... oh, poor child... no wonder she looked familiar. Come in, come in."

Mary is too shaken and confused to register that she's being walked into a vampire's house, and so she moves where Shane urges her to go. It takes a few moments for the little stormburst of tears to pour out, and then she sniffles and fumbles in her purse for Kleenex. After using it -- and sighing at her bedraggled appearance in her little purse mirror -- she apologizes profusely for crying on Shane's shirt... then blinks as she looks around blearily, "What, um... where are we again? Is this, uhh... Elias' house?" She pauses, then confusedly adds, "So what, uhh... what was in the box, then?"

When he sees that she's trying to dry her eyes using Kleenex, Shane hands Mary a nice linen handkerchief instead, saying quietly, "Use this. Those things always rub your eyes and nose raw." She's been guided to a comfortable loveseat, with Shane sitting beside her. "We're in Elias's home. He'll be mother-henning you here in a moment when he finishes getting the kettle on -- and don't you worry about the shirt, lass. A little saltwater never hurt a good shirt. Besides, they say salt's good for keeping you grounded and purified. Maybe that's why we cry when we're hurt, hm?"

Mary accepts the hankie with mumbled thanks... though she blinks at his comment, "Purified? How can we purify ourselves with salt? Wouldn't salt just... dry us out a lot?"

Shane nods, "Salt's used in purifying rituals. So is water. Used in moderation."

By the time Shane's finished talking, Elias has returned. There's no tea yet, but he hands her a glass of water. The package is sitting on a small occasional table. It's the vampire that answers, "Liam did me a favor -- a large and somewhat risky one. That is his side of it. My side of it has not been delivered yet. He joked that it would be payment on receipt. Oh, poor Liam. Poor Rebecca!" Then he realizes he hasn't actually answered the question, "It's, ah... it's blood. But special blood. I don't drink much anymore, but it helps if what I drink is potent."

Mary blinks startledly at Elias, inadvertently leaning back and away a bit from the box, "It's...? Eew! I've been carrying blood around?!" She sighs a second later, resting her forehead in her hands, "Wait. Wait wait wait... of course it's blood. Vampires drink blood, right -- so it's not shocking at all to you, is it." She sighs again, muttering half under her breath, "I so do not belong here!"

Elias smiles a little, but he's got a fussy, worried look about him. That impression of being a schoolteacher just gets stronger all the time. Then his eyes widen, "Mary! You're Mary! Oh, my! Oh, it's so good to meet you!" He doesn't make a move toward her but he gives the impression of wanting to hug her.

Shane smiles, petting her back, "Shh, shh, caraiad. You're fine... and if you're Liam's kin, you certainly do belong here, even if you haven't found your niche yet."

Mary pauses -- wasn't there something else she had to do for Elias...? She sits up again, hastily scrabbling for her cell phone, then swipes quickly through the photographs of the pages that she took. A moment later she straightens, "Oh! Oh, right. Okay. Elias! I'm supposed to tell you the package is part of why Liam was murdered -- he was betrayed, he said." She blinks at the vampire when he says her name -- then hesitantly nods, "Er, yes... that's... me? Mary, I mean? Uh, and also..." Her voice trails off for a moment as she re-reads, then nods and continues worriedly, "you, uh, need the package t-to, er... well, to find and punish the traitor...?"

Elias is smiling. The fangs make it a little disconcerting, but the rest of his face is just beaming, "He talked about you all the time! Only he'd usually call you his beloved little hatchling, so the name didn't quite... oh, dear. Oh dear, oh dear. Maybe it's not what I think it is, then." He shakes his head and anger flashes across both his and Shane's face at the mention of betrayal. About then the kettle begins to whistle and Elias turns toward it. Shane stops him, "I'll pour. You sit with her and check the package." Mary blinks a bit blankly, not sure whether to nod or shake her head as she listens to the, um, extraordinarily toothy vampire! She settles on a faint nod, still watching in wary confusion.

Elias settles near Mary, hands folded together between his knees, "Liam and I have known one another for many years... many, many years. We bonded over our people having such bad reputations at first, but then we realized we enjoyed many of the same things, and that it is good to have someone who remembers the years that just pass into history. We talked about his family and how he wished he could be part of it. When you were born, well, he was enormously happy. Enormously... I have seen pictures of you as you grew up. He carried one in his wallet like any proud grandfather." He reaches for the box and starts to carefully untie and unwrap it, "And he was betrayed. It is extraordinarily hard to kill a dragon. They are tough as nails. Tougher, for nails will rust away into nothing..." Inside the cardboard box is a wooden one that Elias takes carefully out, still talking.

Mary watches silently, her eyes wide. Logic tells her to keep well away from vampires! ...except vampires aren't real! ...except this certainly looks like one! ...except maybe it's just fake teeth? ...except why go to all that bother for silly little old her? ...except- the thoughts tumble confusingly over and over in her head until she wishes a bit tiredly that she could just wake up from this truly peculiar dream. What on earth is her non-conscious mind trying to tell her?!

"His death was a heavy blow to those of us that knew him," Elias even sounds like a schoolteacher, but one of the ones who really love their subject. He carefully sets the cardboard box aside and opens the wooden box. There are several things in it. Three of them, Elias carefully and quickly sets aside, out of Mary's sight. Another is a sheaf of carefully folded paper. The last is a small vial that Elias picks up and holds to the light, "Ah, I see. Yes."

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Last modified: 2019-Jun-12 19:53:32

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