Somewhere Within: (A Havenwood Falls High Novella) Page 3

  “Lawrence Mills, I’d like to introduce you to your granddaughter, Zoey.” He turned to me. “Zoey, this is your Grandpa Mills.”

  Grandpa stood about average height. His frame appeared wiry, and he had wild white hair that looked as if it took real effort to tame. His black suit was impeccable, and even his shoes were shined to perfection. He squinted his pale green eyes and leaned in a little closer. While his vision might have been somewhat impaired, I believed he was a shrewd man that didn’t miss anything.

  “She’s a little wisp of a thing, isn’t she.” He stated that as a fact, not a question.

  Dad placed a hand on my shoulder. “Yes, but she’s mighty in spirit.”

  Grandpa’s lips turned up a little at that. “I’ve no doubt she is. She’s a Mills!” Then he glanced at my mother. “Well, half Mills anyway.” His voice held a hint of disgust.

  Mom squeezed my hand a little tighter, but didn’t reply. It signaled to me that I shouldn’t worry about the insult. It would all be fine.

  Dad put his arm around Mom. “Lawrence, if this is any indication of how the night will go, then I suggest we say our goodbyes now.”

  “Eh! Don’t get your shorts in a wad, boy. Come on in and eat some dinner.” He turned to go, taking his first step with a cane that looked every bit as old as he was. Before his second step, he turned his head toward my dad. “And stop calling me Lawrence. You know I hate that. I’m your father.”

  Dad shrugged. “No, I can’t say that I do know what you hate. I don’t remember much, thanks to this town’s special wards.”

  I looked up at my mom.

  “There’s a spell on the town that makes people forget about Havenwood Falls and everyone in it. It becomes more like a vague dream.” Mom glanced at Grandpa Mills. “Some people get their memories back in a rush, others in small chunks. Some memories trickle back in slowly. Dad and I are getting them back in little segments.”

  We followed Grandpa through a set of double doors and into a large, elegantly furnished dining room. The gleaming mahogany table looked as if it could have seated at least ten people. I tried not to openly gawk.

  “Well, look who the cat dragged in,” said a female voice from the back of the room.

  Dad stood still for just a moment, then turned to the woman and smiled. “Jetta? Is that you?”

  She gave an over-pronounced bow and then walked toward us. “In the flesh . . . for the moment.” She smiled slyly as she seemed to take a moment to appreciate her own joke. Her skin-tight black dress looked as if it were made of leather, and matched her knee-high boots perfectly. Jetta’s pixie-cut hair was a radiant silver color, and I thrilled to see her eyes were very similar to mine—a pale gray with blue mixed in. Despite the hair color, she appeared to be in her early twenties, with a vibrant energy about her.

  Dad turned to address us then. “Bianca. Zoey. This is my younger sister, Jetta.”

  Aunt Jetta smiled. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Zoey! And I remember Bianca, although I’m sure she doesn’t remember me. Not yet, anyway.” She gave my dad a small shove on his shoulder. “You stayed away far too long, big brother.”

  Dad shrugged. “If it hadn’t been for Lawre . . . uh, Dad’s letter, I wouldn’t be here now.”

  Grandpa grunted out something I didn’t understand, then barked an order. “Everyone sit down. I can’t think or talk on an empty stomach.”

  We all took a seat at the table, and a kind-looking older woman entered the dining room with a wheeled tray full of all kinds of meats and vegetables. She made her way around the table, filling plates while no one said a word. The tension was too much for me, and I couldn’t resist the urge to say something to break the silence. I looked over at Aunt Jetta and took in her appearance. Several beautiful pieces of jewelry graced her neck, arms, and fingers. She also had quite a few tattoos, and I found that fascinating.

  “I like your piercings, Aunt Jetta.” I tried to make it sound as cheerful as possible.

  Aunt Jetta reached up and ran a finger over the gold hoop in her eyebrow, then the diamond stud in her nose. She had several in her ears too, but they weren’t as unusual. “Thanks, kiddo. I’m glad someone in this family appreciates individuality.” She shot a frustrated look at Grandpa.

  Grandpa snorted. “You look like a damn pin cushion.”

  Jetta batted her eyelashes at him dramatically. “Aw, I love you too, Daddy.”

  Grandpa just snorted again and picked at his food.

  Well, I guess asking about her tattoos is a bad idea. I’ll save that for another time.

  Dad spoke up next. “So, Dad, tell me why we’re here.”

  Grandpa looked at him like he’d sprouted a second head. “To eat, you moron.”

  “No, I mean why did you really summon my family to Havenwood Falls? My memories are still a bit fuzzy, but I do clearly remember you telling Bianca and me you never wanted to see us again.”

  My eyes grew wide. Harsh! Dad started right off with the elephant in the room. He didn’t just mention it—he shot it between the eyes.

  I noticed Mom fidget a little in her seat. I reached over and took her hand in mine. I felt her relax a little.

  Grandpa stared Dad down a moment, then placed his fork beside his plate. One bushy white eyebrow rose as he spoke. “To be frank, I’m getting old. We dragons aren’t immortal, and someone needs to carry on the Mills legacy. It’s gotta be you.”

  Aunt Jetta laughed out loud. “Yes, darling brother, it has to be you. Do you want to know why?” She glanced at Grandpa, then back at my dad. “Because the old man here still won’t forgive me for wanting to be my own person.”

  Dad looked at them both. “When are you gonna bury that hatchet? It’s been years!”

  Grandpa shook his head. “I can’t abide defiance and disobedience.”

  It was Dad’s turn to laugh. “But you’re forgiving mine?”

  The room became so quiet, you could’ve heard a pin drop.

  “No,” said Dad. “You aren’t. You just wanted me back here so I can be under your thumb. If you still can’t accept Bianca as a part of this family, then we have nothing more to talk about.” He stood. “Girls, it’s time we left.”

  Grandpa stood as well. “Now, wait a minute. You can’t just come in here—”

  Dad cut him off. “When you’re ready to act like a proper father and grandfather, you know where to find us. Until then, don’t bother.”

  Grandpa roared, and it shook the windows. It wasn’t merely a loud yell. It was the kind of supernatural sound that made the very ground quake beneath your feet. I clung to my mom as I watched Grandpa’s eyes change from pale to a vivid green with a narrow slit for a pupil.

  Aunt Jetta put a hand on Grandpa’s shoulder. “Dad, calm down. Keep that up, and you’ll have the Court here.”

  Grandpa closed his eyes, then sat back down in his chair. He took a deep breath. “Does she have it, Tristan?” he asked quietly.

  Dad looked at me, then back at Grandpa. “Yes, she has the gene.”

  “May I talk to her?” He sounded exhausted.

  Dad studied Grandpa for a moment, then turned to me. “Your grandpa would like a word with you. Are you comfortable with that? If not, you can say no.”

  I looked at my grandfather. He seemed to have calmed down now. “Sure, I don’t mind.” I wasn’t quite as brave as I tried to sound, but this man was family, and I knew Dad wouldn’t allow him to hurt me.

  Aunt Jetta walked to where we stood and put her arm around my mom. “Let’s get reacquainted while they chat.” Mom looked at me, and I nodded my head.

  “I’ll be fine, Mom. Go ahead.” I pasted on a smile to reassure her.

  “Okay, if you’re sure.” Mom looked at Grandpa. “I don’t care how you feel about me, but don’t you dare disrespect my daughter.” She shot him a fierce and protective glare I’d never seen her give anyone.

  Grandpa sent her a silent nod, and Aunt Jetta led her out of the dining room.

  Dad p
ut a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll be just outside these doors if you need me.”

  I gave him a thumbs up, and he winked at me, then shut the doors behind him.

  There I stood—alone in a huge room with a cranky grandfather I’d just met, who happened to be a dragon. What could possibly go wrong?

  I took the seat next to Grandpa and tried to calm my nerves. He was intimidating.

  “You probably don’t know a lot about our family history yet. Would you like me to fill you in?”

  I nodded my head. “That’d be nice. Thank you.”

  He leaned back and closed his eyes a moment before focusing his gaze back on me. “Settle in, Zoey. It’s a long story.”

  Chapter 3

  “Family records go back far enough to indicate that Iceland is where we originated. My father, his father, and his father’s father were all frost dragon shifters. Obviously, we didn’t start out that way. In the beginning, we were fierce, mostly solitary beings—protective of the resources in our lands. Dragon families would grow together, then scatter to make our own homes and families. When humans began to settle in our area, it was a source of constant conflict.” Grandpa Mills frowned as he relayed our history. “No matter the intention, it always ended in a bloody battle. Both sides became exhausted and broken, tired of losing members. After one particularly devastating loss for the humans, a sorcerer approached us with a proposition. Due to his magic, he could speak to us much the way we communicate with each other. He said that if we’d allow him to change us into humans on occasion, we could communicate with their king and work on a peace treaty.”

  I felt my eyes grow wide. “Seriously?”

  He nodded. “It’s the truth. So, we talked among ourselves, and a few volunteered for the task.”

  He grew quiet and pensive.

  When it seemed he wouldn’t continue, I had to ask him, “What happened next?”

  His eyes snapped to mine. “The humans betrayed our trust. The sorcerer worked for the king, and our agreeing to the deal was all that it took to change our entire clan into humans. They changed us, then attacked us. As humans, we were as vulnerable as they, or so they believed.” His lips turned up into a wicked grin. “But there was a kink in their plan. When threatened, our dragons emerged to protect us. We wiped out the entire kingdom after that.”

  My jaw dropped. “You killed them all?”

  “I didn’t. I wasn’t around. Our ancestors did.” He shrugged. “This is the story that’s been passed down for generations. I don’t know if it’s one hundred percent accurate, but it’s close enough.”

  He sighed. “The humans kept coming, and eventually, we had to learn to hide among them to survive without casualties. When we heard news of a journey to this continent, and the search for sanctuary, our family decided to tag along.”

  It was a lot to take in. “Is there anything else I should know?” Fear almost kept me from asking.

  “I think you know the most important parts. There are trivial things. We tend to be paler than most humans and can’t tan no matter how hard we try. The details are unclear to me. Evolution to adapt to our climate or some kind of genetic hokum.” He waved his hand around as if it was of no consequence, then tapped his index finger on his bottom lip as he reflected on his next words. “I hear you like jewelry.”

  I nodded, wondering about the sudden change of topic. “I do.”

  “You’ve heard the tales of dragons and treasure?”

  I nodded again.

  “All legends start from a truth. Our truth is that we have an affinity for beautiful things. Jewelry certainly falls into that category. It’s in your blood, so to speak.”

  I felt a sense of relief at his words. At least I had a reason for my obsession, outside of just being odd.

  “Other things you’ll likely notice,” he said, “you may prefer solitude to large crowds. What do they call that now?” He took a moment to think. “Introverts. Yes, that’s it. Dragons are generally solitary creatures, although with frost dragons, we do sometimes exist in small clans, such as our ancestors did. The human side of us craves family and companionship, which is why we now do our best to exist in peace with each other, as well as other creatures.” He scowled, as if the thought of coexistence angered him.

  “You don’t like this arrangement?” I asked.

  He turned his gaze to mine, and his eyes felt like they were boring into my soul. I adjusted myself in the chair, trying to shake the discomfort of his stare.

  “I tolerate it,” he stated. “Humans are the reason we are in this mess, so I have very little use for them. But we do what we must, and I am willing to grant concessions . . . for now.”

  The way he said “for now” sent a chill down my spine. I amended my earlier thought. At that moment, he wasn’t intimidating—he was terrifying.

  Grandpa Mills crossed his legs and then pointed to my hand, noticing the bandage. “What happened there?”

  “I had an accident. A burn.” I glanced down at my hand.

  “How is it now?” His words indicated a question, but his expression spoke volumes. He knew what my answer would be.

  “It’s healing . . . under the scale.” I pulled the bandage off and pushed my hand forward to allow him a look.

  He nodded. “One of the numerous benefits of being a frost dragon. When needed, we can create frost, ice, and blasts of arctic air at will.”

  I pondered that for a moment.

  “What other uses does it have, besides the obvious?” I asked as I held up my hand.

  “Well, you can cool a drink in no time flat.” He winked at me, and I was taken aback by the levity of his demeanor. He’d been so grouchy just moments before.

  “There was a time when we froze our food, for consumption later. It’s not so necessary with modern technology, but when I was young, it was all we had.”

  “When exactly was that, if you don’t mind my asking?” I couldn’t help but be intensely curious as to his real age. He looked to be in his eighties, but I felt sure he was much older.

  “I’m almost two hundred, give or take a few years.” He scratched his chin absentmindedly. “I was in my early twenties when we relocated from the old country. My family joined the original band of travelers searching for sanctuary. In 1854, they discovered what we now know as Havenwood Falls.”

  My mouth gaped open. “Two hundred? That’s insane!” I couldn’t decide if that could be classified as awesome or horrifying. “How long do frost dragons live?”

  His expression grew sad. “Not long enough. Once we hit twenty, we age about half the rate of humans. I’m nearing the end of my lifespan.”

  I could feel a bit of sadness creep over me. I didn’t know this man at all, and he didn’t appear to be a popular member of the family, yet the thought of losing him hit me deeply. It made no sense.

  “It’s okay, child. When I go, I’ll be with your Grandma Christine again. I can’t ask for anything better.” He patted my hand, and for a moment, I felt a kindness he withheld from the rest of the world.

  “How long has she been gone?” I asked with a quiet reverence.

  “I lost her in the Massacre of 1876.” He paused and his expression grew hard. “I lost of lot of family and friends that day.”

  “Massacre?” I felt the word stick in my throat.

  His eyebrows drew together, almost meeting in the middle. “You’ll learn about it at school.” He stood abruptly and gripped his cane so tightly, I thought I heard it crack.

  “I will?” I wasn’t quite sure what that meant.

  “What are you, a parrot? Yes, you’ll get the public version. The real events of that day are only known to a few of the humans that live here. It’s not something we discuss openly.” He began to hobble toward the door.

  I sat motionless, trying to grasp all the information I’d gleaned so far.

  He turned and glared at me, his intimidating side returning full force. “Well, girl, are you gonna sit there all night? Let’s get your
parents back in here so we can eat before the meal is completely ruined.”

  I returned to the seat I’d occupied before everyone left. My appetite had abandoned me.

  Two weeks had passed since I’d learned the truth about my family. I’d had a lot of time to think about my true identity. I’d once believed there was nothing special about me. The last two schools I had attended had hammered that point home. A month ago, I existed as just a below-average teen girl, approaching her sweet sixteen and wishing she could be someone else. Anyone else.

  Don’t get me wrong. I loved my parents, and I really had nothing to complain about, but I didn’t like me. Despite all the “you must love yourself first” stuff my parents had fed me every time I’d been snubbed or my heart had been broken, I knew the truth. I was a weirdo, and I always had been. But the joke was on me. Weird didn’t begin to cover it. What was sad was that I now lived in a town full of weirdos, and I still didn’t feel like I fit in.

  My mom used to call me unique and say that’s why I didn’t click with people easily. She said, and I quote, “Average people don’t understand you, so they lose out on an amazing friendship. Only people that are very special will bond with someone as amazing as you.”

  The previous times she’d said that, I’d think “Yeah. I wish.” But knowing what I knew now, a lot of things made sense. I was beginning to understand the logic behind our love for this part of the United States. We were evolved for a snowy climate—one of many reasons Havenwood Falls was a perfect home for us. The closer my birthday loomed, the more I found the cold comforting. While my schoolmates wore heavy coats, I fought the urge to wear T-shirts.

  There was also my tendency to be introverted. I’d generally rather read than attend parties. That part, coupled with my unusual looks, had caused me a butt-load of grief growing up.