Page 2 of To Fall for a Dragon

He tucked his head close to his body. The brisk, cold wind bit through his thin coat. He had to find shelter now so he could rest and recalibrate. Seeing Sawyer again threw him off his game. The vampire would be difficult to shake once he discovered Poe’s reason for being here in Granite.

Poe’s feet remembered the winding streets, and before he realized it, he was standing in front of a modern house. The land was familiar to him. The gentle slope to the river, the big pine trees that towered over every house.

The house had changed throughout the years. It was square, with a flat roof and large windows. A low-slung car sat in front of a decrepit carriage house. The mix of old and new, falling apart and high-end made Poe’s heart ache. This used to be his home. A small stone house used to sit here with dormer windows at the half level. The big garden where he picked beans and potatoes all summer was gone. A small swing set took its place.

Glancing around the neighbourhood to make sure no one was watching, Poe slunk in between the modern house and its neighbour to find the river flats. A tall wooden fence stopped Poe. Why would anyone block the view of the river? The peaceful river as it lazily wandered downstream had kept him sane for many years. It was where he and his best friend had laughed and played. It was where they'd experimented with their curious feelings. They’d met in the water away from prying eyes and did… things. Poe shook his head. Now wasn’t the time for fond reminisces.

Lost in more memories, Poe found himself walking a beaten path along the meandering river. Something settled inside as he studied the familiar water and its tree-lined banks. This was the way to his safe spot.

He needed to reassure himself that the place where he hid his tokens was protected. He had more letters, more notes regarding his fantasies toward his friend. Why he'd written them down, Poe didn’t know. It had helped when the world became too much, when it demanded him to be different.

The cold disappeared as he stood on the grounds of an old riverside cemetery. The large former house of industry rose behind it, daunting in its size and duty. He remembered the people who were forced to stay and what they'd suffered in that hateful building. All in the name of safety and survival for the townspeople.

Poe trailed his hands along the well-maintained gravestones, wincing at the names and dates. They were relatives and friends. He knew them.

“What are you doing?” a harsh voice demanded, startling Poe from his introspection and quiet acknowledgement of the people resting in the ground. Poe lifted his head and froze at the sight of a great beast of a man standing at the gate to the cemetery. His muscled arms were crossed, and a fierce scowl graced his face.

“Saying hello,” Poe swiftly replied. It wasn’t any of his business why Poe was visiting. As long as Poe didn’t desecrate the graves, Poe stayed where he was.

“This is private property. You shouldn't be here.”

Poe grinned evilly. He knew when the ground was private or public. He could be on any public grounds. “The land says otherwise, or I’d be over there.”

“What do you mean? This belongs to the museum.” The man came closer, and Poe could see hints of otherness to him. Horns rose from his brow, and his eyes were reptilian. “As a matter of fact?—”

“If the land did belong to someone, I’d have to find another way around this place,” Poe interrupted. Something about this man was familiar to Poe. He had a presence that spoke to him and dared Poe to open and share. “Are you the caretaker of the cemetery?”

“What made you assume that? It’s dark out, and there’s no sign,” the man argued. Poe bared his teeth a little. It was obvious what lay under the ground. There were markers everywhere, with well-worn paths to the graves.

“I am not an ignoramus,” Poe retorted. He stuck his hands in his coat pockets, noticing the cold again. “Are you one? Cemeteries have a distinct aura to them, a hush or reverence. It doesn’t go away once the sun sets.”

“Strangers are not allowed on my land,” the man snapped. “I don’t have time for this. Are you working for the mayor? You remind me of one of his cronies.”

“I have no desire to understand the politics of this town,” Poe hedged. This was the museum mentioned at the café and the person Poe hoped to talk to. “Have you lived here long? Can you share some information about the poorhouse, er, house of industry?”

“Yes?” The man narrowed his eyes at the abrupt change of subject. “Poorhouse?”

“Will it be open to the public tomorrow?” Poe asked. If the man was demanding information from him, Poe had the right to do the same. At least his questions were easy to answer.

“You can visit in the afternoon. And the museum dealing with the house of industry is just up the hill. You can’t miss it.” The man pointed to the poorhouse. What little blood Poe had froze. No way would he be able to enter that building. It was the home to his horror, where Sawyer had taken his life and destroyed it.

“Right, thank you. Have a good night.” Poe turned around and followed the path back to the river and away from his past.

ChapterTwo

Hakko cocked his head to the side and studied the waifish person walking away. His shoulders had slumped and curled inward when Hakko had mentioned the museum.

The young man who smelled old was ridiculously attractive, with his untidy brown hair and black-as-night eyes. He had a feeling of familiarity to him, as though Hakko had met him once before. The man would rather walk away than fight. He’d hold his emotions in and remain silent. He wasn’t one to burden people.

“You’re going the wrong way. There’s nothing over there but the river.” Hakko took a few steps closer. If he let this vampire disappear, then the answers Hakko sought would as well. Hakko needed him to be here and safe.

“Trust me. I know how to get around.” The vampire waved and melted into the darkness.

Hakko wasn’t fond of trees anymore. Once he discovered the old dryads outside the magically fortified land had deliberately caused a new friend to stumble in his journey to learn magic, Hakko had lost some of his reverence toward them. The pines in the cemetery, though, behaved differently compared to the ones outside the hallowed ground. They were guardians of the dead. They allowed no dryads, no fairies within their grounds. The pines and the spruces sheltered the dead from all visitors. “They don’t like intruders.”

“I’m not an intruder,” the vampire called back. It made Hakko curious enough to step into the cemetery after him.

“You can’t say stuff like that and just leave!” Hakko complained. It was a tease of a story, a hint of what had happened before. And it drove Hakko nuts. “How are you not an intruder? I have met everyone in town, and I’ve never seen you before!”

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