Lucky: Dorian Gray Novels Book 1 Page 8

  Coan pulls my hand down and gives it a couple of quick pats and says, “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

  “But it did!” I retort back as an accusation.

  Shaking his head, he says, “It was your choice, so don’t be mad at me.”

  “I choose information – you didn’t say anything about putting a molten metal ring on my finger!”

  “I said there’d be consequences, honey. Now, let me fill you in. I’m no Witch,” he said the word Witch with distain. “I’m a Druid. My kind is real touchy about things being written or recorded about us. That little ring there is an NDA, gag order and writer’s block all in one. As in, you can’t write or record anything about us… and if you say something to someone that isn’t blocked, they won’t even remember you were speaking. Dorian is probably the only other blocked person you’ll ever meet.

  “You got a choice and a chance to know as a favor to Dorian. I told him to leave you alone, but he just couldn’t do it so now here we are.” He seems to be fond of Dorian and his eyes warm a little at each mention of his name. Strangely, that makes me like him a little better.

  “What does all of this have to do with Dorian?” I say.

  “I’m sure you’d rather hear all that from him,” Coan said with one raised eyebrow and an expression that says he knows just how interested I am in hearing it from Dorian. “I don’t care how many trees are still alive, I’m still not going anywhere near him and he’s probably chomping at the bit to talk to you.” Yeah! It was worth a little pain if it means Dorian is coming back. “You wait here, and I’ll let him know what happened” Coan was already standing and starting to walk away when he looked back and yelled “Call me if you need me – As long as Dorian’s not around, I’ll come. I’ve got nothing better to do here in the middle of nowhere!”

  “I don’t have your phone number,” I yell after him.

  He yells back, “I don’t have a phone!” and I see him wave back at me as he steps out of sight. He is a very odd man. Coan only added to my pile of questions, but I don’t even care right now because I’m going to be able to talk to Dorian again.

  It seems perfect that I’m here waiting in this same spot where he shared so much with me before. Not being able to talk about Druids seems like a very small price to pay – I don’t really know much about them and I’ve never talked about them before. I’ll have to remember to get Dorian to explain some of the things Coan said, but first I want to know why he left me hanging for three weeks.

  Sitting there waiting, I look down at my new ring. I’ve never really worn jewelry except for when Em’s made me dress up but wearing this ring all the time won’t be so bad.

  It looks like a delicate band of miniature gold leaves and vines. Even though each leaf is tiny, you can see so much detail – right down to the veining. It appears very thin, but I can’t make the ring bend at all when I press it between the thumb and pointer finger of my other hand. I can’t pull it off or move it down my finger, but it doesn’t feel tight and I can move it around in a circle. All in all, it’s kinda pretty.

  I’m still toying with my ring and it seems like I’ve been waiting a very long time when I hear a twig snap just behind me. Turning around, I see Dorian. He has both of his hands in the pockets of his leather coat and his shoulders are raised slightly but his head is bowed down. He’s looking straight into my eyes with a shy smile on his perfect face. Sunlight is dancing off his golden hair and seeing him almost takes my breath away.

  I vaguely remember that I was planning on being mad at him for not being around the last three weeks, but all I can do is smile back at him.

  “Hi,” he says shyly.

  “Hi,” I answer back.

  “Can I sit by you?” he asks.

  In my head I think to myself, yes, please. Out loud I simply say, “Sure.”

  As he sits, I see him briefly look at my hand and in a moment of bravery I reach it out toward him.

  His eyes grow wider for just a second before he takes my hand in both of his. He sighs as he squeezes gently and closes his eyes briefly.

  “I’m told that you’re full of questions.” He says as he leans in.

  I catch a slight scent on the breeze of what must be Dorian’s cologne. I’d never noticed before, but it’s masculine and heavenly at the same time. I forget the question I was planning on asking and just go with the first thing that jumps into my head.

  “Who was that orange-haired guy?” I say, still slightly languid from Dorian’s scent.

  “Coan?” He chuckles a little “He’s got orange hair?”

  “Don’t you know him? I thought you were friends,” I say a little confused.

  “Yeah. I guess you could say he’s the only friend I’ve had since I became what I am…But I’ve only ever seen him once.”

  That seems a little crazy. “Are you pen-pals or something?” I say, half joking.

  Dorian’s face turns grim and he looks down at our hands. “You’ve seen what I can do, Ellie. I drain life away – he can’t come near me. And we can’t be pen-pals either. Druids don’t like anything written about them, and they certainly don’t tolerate any member creating a written document. You’re bound by rules now too, and I’m sorry about that.”

  “But if you’re friends, why would you drain life away from him, can’t you just not touch him?” I ask.

  “Ellie, I drain or kill everything and everyone that I get near – except you,” he said looking deep into my eyes. Smiling with just one corner of his mouth he says “…And that tree over there…but I think that has something to do with you too.”

  “So, it isn’t just the things you touch?” I say astonished.

  “Touch just makes the effect more concentrated. I tried to be far enough away from people that I wouldn’t touch anyone, but I only made things worse.” He looks so heavyhearted that I don’t think I can press him for more details. It registers in my head that I’m holding the hand of a person who can’t control the killing power of his touch, but I still don’t feel scared. I am still as certain as I was the last time that he won’t hurt me. I just wish I knew how I can be so sure.

  We sit for a long time, and I can tell that Dorian is struggling with the decision of how much to share.

  I take my hand out of his so that I can hold it up in front of him and wiggle my little finger flashing the petite gold ring at its base. “You can tell me anything now,” I say and smile at him before placing my hand back in his.

  The corners of his mouth lift, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Okay,” he says, “You should know everything.” It sounds more like he was saying it to himself than to me.

  Chapter 9

  “After I realized that my touch could kill, I decided that I needed to get as far away from people as I could. I traveled back to my grandfather’s estate and moved into a small hunting lodge in the middle of the estates moors.” As Dorian speaks, his eyes become distant like he’s able to see back into his past. “It was shortly after that when I first spoke to Coan, or more accurately I should say it was when he first spoke to me.

  “I’d had several nights without sleep since the curse was first put on me, and when I heard Coan’s disembodied voice in the cabin I thought it was my mind playing tricks.

  “Coan told me that he was a Druid and explained how he and his people were watchers. They could control the movement of life force, but they had many rules and boundaries they had to follow. They could perform a few spells, but they needed to be very controlled about it and they couldn’t allow themselves to be physically tied to any particular time and place or they could face severe consequences – that’s why they’re so touchy about anything that could provide proof of their existence; of written records and recordings.

  “Coan is the one who told me about Sibyl’s mother, Lavinia. He’d been assigned to watch her after she became a Witch and he was now assigned to watch me. Witches were Druids that left their order and no longer obeyed anyone’s rules. They would cast spe
lls without any way of knowing what the consequences could be and also without being able to control where the energy would come from to make those spells real.

  “He said that he couldn’t break the curse Lavinia put on me, but he could help me figure out how it worked.

  “I lay in bed awake, thinking about everything that Coan had said and I realized that I must have gone mad. The only course I saw open to me was to take my own life - to remove the monster that I am from this world before I was able to wrongly justify allowing myself to live.

  “I tried a dozen different ways, but none even left a mark. The whole time I could hear Coan yelling in my head for me to stop, but I had already decided that he wasn’t real and that I wouldn’t let a symptom of my madness deter me.

  “I was sitting among the smoldering ashes of the hunting cabin that I had tried to use as a funeral pyre when Coan walked up to me and threw a pair of clothes at me. He told me to put them on and that I needed to follow the path of dead grass across the moor.

  “He was only close to me for a minute before I started down the path, but in that short time I could see his face age before me. That was the last and only time that I have ever seen Coan. Druids don’t measure time the way we do, but they’re not immortal either. I don’t know how many years Coan sacrificed of his own life that day to keep me from causing further harm, but I am forever grateful to him for it. That was the one and only time that I ever saw Coan, but from that point on I would talk to him and listen to his replies.

  “What I learned that day is that I can’t be physically harmed and no matter how isolated I think I am from people, the curse will reach out and destroy whatever life is nearest to me. The more I push the limits of my immortality; the more life force the curse absorbs to keep me unchanged.

  “That day when I followed the patch of dead grass, I found dozens of dead animals along the way until it ended at a small farmhouse…” Dorian pauses and takes a deep breath. “…everyone inside was dead.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Shock. I’d been like a deer in headlights listening to Dorian’s story. It’s too much; too much to hear; too much to bear. How could Dorian have survived with this curse? And then I remember that he tried to end it by taking his own life but didn’t have any other choice but to continue living. My heart swells with sorrow for this poor beautiful man.

  I look at Dorian sitting next to me with all the glory of a setting sun shining off his hair and eyelashes. Even sitting there in quiet contemplation, he is so handsome that it almost hurts to look at him. I can see so much beauty and so much pain in his face. It isn’t fair that he’s had to endure this. I look down from his face to his masculine hand holding mine.

  “Why can you touch me?” I ask sheepishly. Again, I feel reassurance coming from somewhere deep inside that he won’t harm me, but I also know that everything he’s told me is true – those two things are hard to reconcile.

  “I don’t know, but there’s more to it than that. A story for another day.” Dorian says. “I’m sure you need to get back before someone comes looking for you again.”

  Looking at the pallet of color painted across the sky from the setting sun, I know he’s probably right. The issue is that I just don’t want to lose him again.

  Expressing that fear out loud, I say, “Will you disappear again for another three weeks?”

  He looks at me and his face warms and half of his mouth turns up into a smile. “Why don’t you join me for lunch tomorrow at my place if that’s alright? That will give me less of a chance to disappear,” he says, giving me a half smile. His mood can change so quickly and now I can tell that he is feeling lighter somehow. “I’m sorry about leaving you hanging before. If we meet tomorrow, would you let me explain?”

  “Yes. Where do you live?” I say. I can tell that he must have found the quickness of my answer amusing because he is smiling wider now.

  “I’m at the end of Emerson Ave. where it turns into a private driveway.”

  He stands and lifts my hand for me to join him. Looking into my eyes, he lets go of my hand and moves to cup my cheek. I can’t help but lean into his touch.

  “Goodbye Ellie.” I can tell by his tone and the look in his eyes that something isn’t quite right. I’m not sure why, but I feel like his goodbye is referring to more than just tonight. I’ve never met someone that can change their mood as fast – I can’t even figure out where he’s at before there’s another change.

  I spend my night trying to put thoughts of Dorian out of my head, so I can focus on getting a good night’s sleep, but by the time morning comes I realize that I haven’t been successful. By seven, I give in, and spend the rest of the morning trying to get ready for lunch with Dorian.

  I try to focus on remembering each step that Emily uses when she’s trying to doll me up. I don’t have much for supplies, but I dig through what my mom has until I find enough to make a reasonable copy of everything Emily put on me.

  I still have the green dress that Emily lent me when we went to that college party; since it’s the most stylish thing in my closet I decide that Emily probably wouldn’t mind if I wore it again – she’s always trying to get me dressed up in her clothes anyways. With one of the cardigans from my own wardrobe over the top, maybe it will make it a little less of a party dress and more appropriate for a lunch.

  By ten o’clock I’m as presentable as I’ll probably ever be. I tried to keep the eye shadow to a minimum, but everything else I copied from the night of that first party. When I look in the mirror, I’m impressed by how well I did. In my head I thank Emily for all the instruction she gave me that I didn’t appreciate at the time.

  Dorian didn’t give me a time, but I decide that I shouldn’t show up before eleven for lunch – even that’s pushing it, but it still means that I’ve got almost forty-five minutes before I should get in my car. After cleaning up everything that I used to get ready and doing a final check on my hair and makeup, I see that only a couple of minutes has passed.

  Out of things to do at home, I grab my cardigan and take off toward Dorian – maybe I’ll figure out a way to waste time on my way there.

  I’ve never gone all the way down Emerson Ave, but I’ve gone part way down this road a hundred times. Emily’s house is on this road like almost all the other expensive houses in Ripon. The road starts by the college and then snakes its way up to the top of the glacier bluffs behind the school.

  As I drive down the road, I see the view of the town off to my right and I pass a mix of historic looking and new houses on my left. Driving a little further, there is a large turn around and an open metallic gate. A stone wall disappears into greenery on either side of the gate and there is a sign hanging on one side that says, ‘Private Drive’. It’s only 10:30, so I decide to park outside the gate until a more reasonable time for lunch. I try looking for Dorian’s house, but the curve of the driveway and the woods prevent it, so instead I look at the rest of my surroundings. From this spot, there aren’t even any other houses visible – only trees.

  I’m parked there for just a minute until I’m startled by Dorian knocking on my passenger window. I hadn’t even turned off my car yet, so I push the button to roll down the window.

  “You can park up by the house,” Dorian says with a smirk on his face. Seeing him look carefree makes me feel lighthearted.

  A question occurs to me; how did Dorian know I was here?

  “Did you have Coan watching me?” I ask suspiciously.

  “No, Ellie. I knew you were here because I have security cameras,” he says with a tone that almost reminds me that I don’t need to look for the supernatural in everything.

  “Can I ride up to the house with you?” he says gesturing towards my passenger seat. Thank goodness I recently cleaned out my car, so I’ve only got a couple of hair ties and one book to move to the back seat before he can sit down.

  He seems far too perfect to be sitting in my ordinary car beside me. When we were in the quarry, his world and h
is perfection almost seemed to fit with the hard stone walls and natural beauty. Seeing him sitting with the same easy grace on my torn upholstered seats brings our two worlds into sharp contrast. I wish that I could fit into his world and that he could want me how I want him.

  The distance up his driveway seems long, but it’s hard to tell because the lane has so many twists and turns. Even if he saw me on his security camera, how did he get to me so fast? Was he waiting by the gate for me to arrive? I decide to keep that question to myself so that I’m not surprised again by a completely mundane answer I didn’t think of.

  Coming out from behind the last curve, I see that I’m pulling into a large circular drive in front of an amazing Victorian home. It must be three stories high and it has a large porch on the first floor and a balcony on the second. Over the circular drive on the spot closest to the house is a large overhang to protect guests from the weather as they walk into the house. There is a set of large bay windows stacked one above the other that look to almost be forming a partial tower running up one corner of the house. The roofline above is in the shape of a cone to complete the effect.

  I’ve seen many old Victorian homes in town; it was the style that was popular when Ripon was first settled, but none of them look as large and impressive as Dorian’s.

  Pointing ahead, Dorian says, “Go ahead and park under the portico.” Hoping that he’s referring to the roof that extends over the driveway, I park under it. He doesn’t say anything else before reaching for the door handle, so hopefully I got this one right.

  Before I can get out of the car, Dorian is opening the door for me and offering up his hand to help me out. Oh my, what a gentleman – I’ve never had anyone do that for me before.