Page 3 of Claws for Celebration
"Families have their reasons for keeping quiet about the past," Miriam said gently. "Sometimes the stories are too painful. Sometimes they're too precious to share with outsiders."
"And sometimes there's just nothing interesting to tell," Moira added, though something in her disagreed. Her grandmother had always deflected questions about her childhood with vague mentions of "mountain folk" and "old ways." Growing up, Moira had assumed it meant erty or some small-town scandal best left buried.
"Well," Miriam said brightly, "you'll have plenty of time to explore our local history while you're here. Six weeks should be enough to digitize the priority documents, though I suspect you'll find our collection more extensive than your university indicated."
"Extensive how?"
"Diverse. We have land grants, birth and death records, business licenses, court proceedings, personal correspondence, family Bibles, recipe collections, even some old medical journals from the town's first doctor." Miriam's eyes gleamed with the fervor of a true history enthusiast. "There are also some more... unusual items. Folklore collections, ritual descriptions, genealogical charts that trace some fascinating family connections."
"Sounds like my kind of treasure hunt," Moira admitted. Despite her exhaustion, excitement stirred at the prospect of diving into centuries of preserved history. "When can I start?"
"Tomorrow morning, if you're up for it. But tonight, you need to get settled." Miriam stood, gathering their empty mugs. "I've arranged accommodations at The Hearth & Hollow Inn. It's just two blocks over, and if I do say so myself, I serve the best breakfast in three counties. But I may be biased since I run it."
As they climbed back to the main floor, Moira found herself reluctant to leave the archives. Something about the basementfelt... right. Like coming home after a long journey, though she'd never set foot in Hollow Oak before today.
"Mrs. Caldwell," she said as they reached the lobby, "that tea Twyla sent. What was in it?"
"Oh, a little of this and that. Chamomile for calm, lavender for peace, mountain mint for clarity." Miriam's smile held secrets. "And a few other things to help newcomers adjust to our mountain air. It can be overwhelming for folks not used to the altitude."
Altitude. That was a reasonable explanation for the way her skin continued to tingle, for the sense that every breath carried whispered secrets. High elevation could cause all sorts of odd sensations.
"Thank you," Moira said. "For everything. I'll see you tomorrow?"
"I'll stop by around nine to see how you're settling in here. The archive keys are on the desk, and there's a staff entrance around back if you prefer to come and go without walking through the main building. And if you need anything else, I live at the Inn myself so I am always reachable."
Outside, the mist had thickened, transforming Hollow Oak into something ethereal and dreamlike. Street lamps glowed like fairy lights through the fog, and Moira could have sworn she heard music drifting from the direction of the tavern. Laughter mixed with fiddle tunes and voices raised in harmony, the sound of a community gathering to share stories and companionship.
Her rolling suitcase bumped over cobblestones as she followed Miriam's directions toward the inn as the older lady locked up and closed the Municipal building. The mist seemed to part before her and close behind her, as if the town itself was guiding her path. More fancy, of course. Atmospheric pressure and wind patterns could create all sorts of optical illusions in mountainous terrain.
But as she walked through the misty streets of Hollow Oak, Moira couldn't shake the feeling that she'd been here before. In dreams, perhaps, or in the half-remembered stories her grandmother used to whisper during thunderstorms. Stories about mountain magic and family gifts, about roots that ran deeper than memory and blood that called to blood across generations.
"Professional hazard," she repeated, though the words held less conviction now because something ancient stirred in recognition, as if welcoming her home.
3
LUCIEN
The morning sun streamed through The Hollow Oak Book Nook's front windows, casting geometric patterns across the hardwood floors as Lucien arranged the day's featured selections on the display table near the entrance. He'd returned from last night's Council meeting with more questions than answers, though the patrol had been blessedly uneventful. No rogue supernatural threats, no magical disturbances beyond the restless energy that had plagued his rare books collection.
The bell chimed, and Lucien looked up to see Miriam Caldwell entering with a woman he didn't recognize. His panther stirred immediately, attention sharpening with predatory focus.
"Good morning, Lucien," Miriam called, her voice carrying the cheerful authority of someone accustomed to managing both municipal business and inn guests. "I hope you don't mind the early visit, but I wanted to introduce you to Dr. Moira Marsh. She's the archivist I mentioned last week."
Lucien straightened, taking in the newcomer with the same careful assessment he'd use for any potential threat or ally. She was petite, probably reaching only his shoulder even in the sensible flats that peeked beneath her dark slacks. Mahoganycurls escaped from what had likely started as a neat bun, framing a heart-shaped face dominated by intelligent brown eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. She carried herself with the careful posture of someone more comfortable with books than people, and her earth-tone cardigan looked both professional and defensive.
"Dr. Marsh," he said, moving forward with controlled grace. "Welcome to Hollow Oak."
"Just Moira, please," she replied, adjusting her laptop bag's strap. Her voice carried the faint trace of an accent he couldn't quite place, something that spoke of careful education overlaying deeper roots. "Thank you for agreeing to let me work here. Mrs. Caldwell says you have an exceptional rare books collection."
"I do my best to preserve local history," Lucien said, noting how her gaze immediately swept the bookstore with genuine appreciation. Most visitors saw only the commercial aspects, the bestsellers and local interest sections designed to appeal to tourists. She looked deeper, cataloguing the organization system, the climate control measures, the careful balance between accessibility and preservation.
"Lucien's being modest," Miriam interjected. "He has one of the finest private collections of historical documents in the region. Perfect for cross-referencing with the municipal archives."
Something in Miriam's tone suggested layers of meaning, but Lucien kept his expression neutral. The older woman had been on the Council longer than anyone except Elder Varric, and she rarely did anything without multiple purposes.
"What exactly are you researching?" Lucien asked, gesturing toward the rare books section. His panther paced restlessly as her scent reached him fully for the first time. She smelled like old parchment and lavender soap, but underneath thosefamiliar notes lay something else. Something wild and green and impossibly ancient.
"Genealogical records, primarily," Moira said, following him toward the back of the store. "The university received a grant to digitize small-town historical archives before they're lost to time. Hollow Oak's records are apparently quite extensive."
