Page 4 of Claws for Celebration
"Some families have deep roots here," Lucien observed, unlocking the glass case that protected his most valuable volumes. His fingers tingled as he handled the keys, the same restless energy from last night making the metal warm against his skin.
Moira stepped closer to examine the collection, and Lucien caught the subtle hitch in her breathing as she took in the ancient tomes. "These are incredible," she whispered, her scholar's excitement overriding her professional reserve. "Is that a hand-illuminated genealogy from the 1800s?"
"Earlier, actually. The Thornwell family has been keeping records since the first settlers arrived." Lucien watched her carefully, noting how her fingers moved unconsciously as she studied the spines. She traced symbols in the air, elegant gestures that followed patterns he recognized from protective ward work.
She had no idea she was doing it.
"I'll set up a proper workspace for you," he said, moving to clear a reading table near the rare books section. "These documents require careful handling, so I'll need to supervise any direct access to the originals."
"Of course," Moira agreed readily. "I understand preservation protocols. Most of my work will be photographic documentation anyway."
Miriam checked her watch with exaggerated concern. "Oh my, I need to get back to the inn. I’m expecting a new guest this afternoon, and I haven't finished preparing the Blue Ridgeroom. I want to trust Martha, but a part of me always wants to do it myself." She turned to Moira with a warm smile. "You're in excellent hands here. Lucien knows more about our local history than anyone except possibly Elder Varric."
After Miriam left, the bookstore felt smaller somehow, more intimate. Lucien busied himself preparing the workspace while Moira set up her laptop and camera equipment with efficient movements that spoke of extensive experience. She handled technology with the same careful respect she showed the antique books, and her organizational system impressed him despite himself.
"Coffee?" he offered. "Twyla's café is just down the street, but I keep a decent pot brewing in the back office."
"That would be wonderful, thank you." Moira looked up from adjusting her camera settings, and their eyes met across the small table. For a moment, something passed between them, a recognition that felt deeper than their brief acquaintance should allow.
Lucien retreated to his office, using the time to center himself. His panther wanted to investigate further, to understand why this quiet human carried magical scents that shouldn't exist. The beast recognized her as something significant, though Lucien couldn't determine whether that significance meant threat or opportunity.
When he returned with two steaming mugs, Moira had already begun photographing the first genealogical volume. She worked with practiced efficiency, but he noticed how she paused occasionally, frowning at certain entries as if they triggered half-remembered associations.
"Find something interesting?" he asked, settling into the chair across from her.
"Maybe." She accepted the coffee gratefully, wrapping her hands around the mug as if drawing comfort from its warmth."Some of these family names are familiar, though I can't place where I might have heard them before."
"Generational memory can be powerful in small communities," Lucien suggested carefully. "Stories get passed down even when families move away."
"Possibly." Moira returned to her work, but he caught her glancing at him when she thought he wasn't looking. "Have you lived in Hollow Oak long?"
"Fifteen years." The truth, though not the complete truth. "I came here after college, looking for somewhere quiet to open a bookstore. The town suited me."
"It's certainly atmospheric," she agreed. "Mrs. Caldwell mentioned that tourism is seasonal?"
"Very seasonal. We get a few hikers and leaf-peepers, but mostly Hollow Oak keeps to itself." Lucien sipped his coffee, watching her work. "Some visitors find the isolation... overwhelming."
"I can see how it might be." Moira carefully turned a page in the genealogy, and her breath caught audibly. "Oh."
"What is it?"
"This entry." She pointed to a faded line of script. "The name Marsh appears here, connected to the Shadowheart line. But that's..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "It's probably just coincidence. Marsh isn't exactly an uncommon surname."
Lucien's panther went absolutely still. The Shadowheart line had been one of the most powerful magical bloodlines in the region before they disappeared mysteriously in the late 1700s. If Moira carried that heritage, it would explain both her unconscious magical gestures and the restlessness that had been plaguing his collection since yesterday.
"Coincidences can be meaningful in places like Hollow Oak," he said carefully.
Moira looked up sharply, as if hearing something in his tone that he hadn't meant to reveal. "What do you mean?"
Before he could answer, she reached for another volume, one of the enchanted texts that responded to magical bloodlines. The moment her fingers brushed the leather binding, soft golden light pulsed from the book's spine.
Moira jerked her hand back with a startled gasp. "What was that?"
"Trick of the light," Lucien said smoothly, though his heart raced. "These old windows create interesting reflections sometimes."
She stared at the book for a long moment, then at her own hand as if it had betrayed her. "Right. Of course." But her voice carried uncertainty now, the first crack in her rational skepticism.
"Are you all right?" Lucien asked, fighting the urge to reach across the table and take her trembling hand in his. His panther wanted to comfort her, to protect her from the confusion and fear he could scent rising from her skin.
