Silver: The Dragons of Veil Valley, #1

Silver

The Dragons of Veil Valley Book 1

L. Genaro

2020 © L. Genaro

Cover by Deranged Doctor Design

Table of Contents

Intro

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

Intro

Aman in his mid-twenties roughly stuffed some clothes into a suitcase. Both he and his suitcase seemed terribly out of place compared to his surroundings. From the look of the room, one would expect a man dressed to the nines for a Victorian Era soiree. Elegant, intricate painted patterns covered the walls. The furniture was hand-carved hardwood with overstuffed horsehair cushions. It was the very lap of luxury and dignity. He was handsome enough, physically fit, and with thick black hair and rich brown eyes, but his outfit was terribly mundane. He wore a black nylon raincoat, a T-shirt, and a pair of blue jeans that gave him the look of a traveler from another time amid such old-world beauty.

Are you nearly through, darling? called a gorgeous, smoky voice from the other room.

He glanced to the window. The sun had set long ago. Even the moon was hidden behind thick storm clouds.

It looks like we’re in for a hell of a storm. Are you going to be okay? he said. Maybe we should wait until a clear night.

A woman entered the room. Unlike the man, she was absolutely in her element in this glorious setting. She was radiant, dressed in a flowing red dress and dripping with gold and jewels. The one feature that clashed with the others was a pair of sunglasses, but she’d somehow found a pair that was as near to a fit for her magnificent outfit as one could imagine.

She was not a young woman, but she carried the years with the same effortless grace as her gown. She was timeless. Her red lips parted into a smile that seemed to make the whole room a warmer, livelier place. She approached him from behind and wrapped her arms about his waist, resting her chin on his shoulder to murmur in his ear.

"Les, we have waited far too long to indulge ourselves in this trip. I am not afraid of a few drops of rain. She released him and gazed around the room. One never realizes how stifling a place like this can be until the door finally swings open."

She waltzed around the room, billowing her dress.

New Orleans. Paris. Prague. Cairo. Rio de Janeiro. Casablanca. She paused and clutched her hands. "And I’m leaving out whole continents, aren’t I?"

A few, he said with a chuckle.

We shall see them all. We shall sample every last flavor of the world before we are through.

He zipped up his bag. And you’re sure this place will be okay without you?

"Don’t be absurd, darling. Of course it will. There are books upon books laying out every little thing. Instructions and rules and protocols and procedures. Enough to bore me nearly to death. Silver will keep the pieces together well enough, and Baron Orris has been waiting for ages to have a chance at my job, even temporarily."

And Charlotte?

"Stop worrying, darling. From the stories you’ve told, her head is more tightly attached than yours. She won’t make all the same decisions I would have, but I think Veil Valley could stand to have a few fresh ideas. At any rate, it shan’t be my concern for quite some time. You do have the writ, do you not?"

Of course, he said.

He fetched a wax-sealed bit of parchment from his inside pocket. If not for its pristine condition, one could have imagined it on display in a museum.

Though I’m a bit confused why it couldn’t have been sent along with the packet we gave to the messenger, he continued.

There are some matters one prefers to see to personally. Well then, all is prepared! She pulled herself close again and stole a kiss. What do you say, Les?

Let’s have our adventure, Ruby.

Chapter 1

It is difficult to be unhappy while sitting in heated leather seats and sipping a sparkling water, but Charlotte had managed it. She looked more anxious than agitated, though there was a dash of each in her expression. Her eyes squinted at the darkness outside her window, trying to make out the charming but not overly legible street signs of the little town.

Is that the intersection of Marten and Fae? she asked.

I think it is, ma’am, replied the driver.

The gray-haired gentleman behind the wheel had a mildly anxious look on his face as well, though it likely had more to do with the dwindling tip his current navigational performance was likely to earn him.

That’s the third time we’ve passed it, Charlotte said, frustration in her voice.

The GPS keeps sending me in a circle, ma’am. It’s the strangest thing, he said. I really am very sorry.

Charlotte checked her watch. Nearly midnight.

It isn’t your fault. I couldn’t find the address on anything but an old surveyor’s map. That doesn’t bode well for resale value...

She drained the last of the sparkling water and set the bottle down in the walnut-inlayed cup holder.

Ma’am... I hate to say this, but...

She touched her fingers to her forehead. "I know, I know. I’ve only got you until midnight. I thought we’d be there by now. Maybe there’s a gas station or something where we can talk to a local? There’s got to be someone in ‘scenic Renhearst’ who can point us in the right direction," she muttered.

I’ll see what the navigation says...

He pulled over and started pawing at the GPS with a lack of familiarity that didn’t give Charlotte the greatest confidence that he actually knew how to use it. A car service like this wasn’t typically used to ferry people from the airport to the middle of nowhere. This was more of a wedding and prom service, but Charlotte had run out of options. Ridesharing services didn’t run in this neighborhood, and she couldn’t find a cab company that would even give her a price quote for a trip so far out of their way. So she found herself with a technologically inept chauffeur as her introduction to Renhearst, Vermont—a town that may as well not exist as far as the Internet was concerned.

"The town really is supposed to be quite a place for sightseers, the driver said. ... When you can see it."

It had been a three-hour drive from the airport, which meant the sun had gone down long before they’d reached Renhearst’s allegedly famous pine forest. The clouds blotted out the moon and stars, and they’d seen their last streetlight more than forty minutes ago. Most of the last hour had been spent weaving through precarious mountain roads with nothing but the headlights to rely upon. The sights had thus been limited to the shadowy forms of wind-rattled tree branches and a close call with a pair of deer. The only exceptions had been two local landmarks that she saw sweep by as they searched for their destination. First was something called Thorngate, which as far as she could tell was a wrought iron fence and an ivy-choked arch. The other was Drake Airfield, which looked like the sort of place not fit for anything larger than a hang glider.

The driver glanced at the fancy navigation screen. The nearest place is someplace called Remi’s Motorlodge and Pub, he said.

Sounds quaint, Charlotte said.

They needn’t have checked the navigation. A town this size wasn’t likely to have more than one business that would be open after sundown. In their ill-fated search for the proper road, they’d passed a faded hand-painted sign twice already. Two quick turns brought them to it a third time. Underpowered floodlights, one of them flickering in the wind, illuminated the sign. A terribly clever vandal had added an E to the word pub, but otherwise it looked like an oversize bed-and-breakfast with a sleazy bar stuck to the side.

The driver pulled into the small parking lot. The wind hit her like a slap in the face the moment he opened the door for her, dislodging a few locks of her chestnut hair from the unruly ponytail she’d wrangled it into.

Would you like to stretch your legs while I try to figure out where we’re going? the driver asked.

That’s probably a good idea, she said.

He helped her from the car. She put her head down and rushed for the entrance to the establishment. The door swung open to reveal a dimly lit pub. The air was heavy with the smell of cigarettes and beer. Most of the light came from neon signs behind the bar.

A few tables and chairs had been set around the floor. They were pushed to the side for the most part, leaving a large open section that in a livelier establishment would likely be crowded with dancers. The half-dozen people lingering in the bar didn’t look like the sort who would be interested in dancing. Two or three muted conversations fought to be heard over a warbling country-western song.

Hello there, strangers! said the bartender, a bubbly middle-aged woman whose energy level was several notches livelier than the hole-in-the-wall roadhouse atmosphere called for.

Hello, ma’am. We are having a little trouble finding... er... the driver began.

Charlotte dug a printout from her purse and flipped it open as the indecipherable country song finally ended.

The New Estate at Veil Valley? she said.

Silence asserted itself so swiftly that Charlotte wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d heard a record scratch. All conversation stopped; all eyes turned to her. This gave her the opportunity to notice that, among the many vaguely unsettling things about the clientele, each of them seemed to be wearing sunglasses. Indoors. At 11:55 p.m. She felt a sharp sting of anxiety.

You said the New Estate? the bartender said, leaning aside to turn down the volume as a new song started up.

Yes, Charlotte replied, nervously glancing at the other patrons.

In Veil Valley.

Yes. I’m the new owner.

One of the other patrons surreptitiously pulled his chair closer to her and leaned forward to look her up and down from behind his sunglasses. She tried to hide her uneasiness, but his continued interest wasn’t making it easy.

The navigation isn’t working, so we’re not certain how to reach it, the driver said, blissfully unaware of the troubling vibe in the room.

What sort of car are you driving? the bartender said.

A Lincoln MKT, he said.

She sucked her teeth. All-wheel drive?

Er... I’m not sure.

It ain’t makin’ it, rumbled a sizable bargoer with a smoldering cigar and a stein of beer in the same meaty mitt.

I’d have to agree. It’s rough road between here and the estate. The bartender turned to the short, scrawny patron who was scrutinizing Charlotte. Jasper, go get Silver.

Oh, right! Heh. Shoulda thought of that right when she mentioned New Estate. Be right back! said the little guy.

He tipped back his own brimming glass of beer, then dashed out the back door of the bar.

The bartender turned pleasantly back to Charlotte. Silver’s the... uh... say, Jace, what’s Silver’s job title?

Ruby’s flunky, rumbled the cigar-smoker.

The bartender glared at him.

No... it’s... what do you call it... ? Oh, who cares. He takes care of the estates. He’ll be along in a jeep. It’ll be about forty, forty-five minutes.

Charlotte glanced around the bar. No one had taken their eyes off her since she’d mentioned her destination. There wasn’t anything hostile about it, but it was making her feel like an ant under a magnifying glass.

Will I be able to stay at the estate tonight, do you think? Charlotte asked.

"Hah! If you’re taking over for Ruby, Silver would be insulted if you didn’t. The bartender shrugged. Even if you weren’t, they’re always happy to see a new face around there. And not to put too fine a point on it, it’s a nicer place to spend a night than one of our rooms."

Charlotte weighed the choices. She could ride back to the nearest town with her driver—and pay him a healthy penalty for going overtime—then get a hotel room there and try this whole thing during daylight. Alternately, she could sit in a bar filled with creepy sunglasses-wearing weirdos and wait for a stranger named Silver to pick her up after midnight to take her to an estate she’d never seen.

Against the bellowing voice of her better judgment, she decided upon the choice that would get her to the estate. The sooner she got there, the sooner this whole thing would be over.

Okay then, I guess I’ll stick around here. I’ll just grab my bags and—

Oh no! I’ll get the bags. Full service, after all, the driver said, trotting out the door.

She turned back to the bartender and her thousand-watt smile. Her profound attitude of raw, exuberant hospitality managed to tip the scales away from the creepy and foreboding mood the rest of the bargoers had thrust it into.

Belly up to the bar! she said brightly. Have a seat! I’m Remi. If you’re going to be here awhile, you’re bound to be seeing me or my sister at least once a week, so we might as well get friendly.

Hi, Remi, she said. That’s a unique name for a woman, if you don’t mind me saying.

"Hah! You think that’s unique. My full name’s Remilicentia."

Charlotte raised her eyebrows. Uh... One more time?

It’s a mouthful, right? My folks weren’t from around here. That’s why it’s Remi. So what’ll you have?

Oh, nothing for me.

You’ll be sitting here for nearly an hour, so unless you’ll be twiddling your thumbs all that time, you may as well have a drink. Tell you what, first one’s on the house.

The driver arrived with three matching suitcases and an overnight bag. He wheeled them up to the bar.

Will that be all, ma’am? he asked.

Uh, yes. That’ll be all. Charlotte fished a twenty out of her purse. Thank you for the excellent service.

He accepted the tip and left. When the door shut behind him, Charlotte felt a fresh sting of anxiety. Until this moment, she’d still had the opportunity to change her mind. Now this whole ridiculous endeavor seemed very, very real.

She looked to the hulking gentleman at the end of the bar, the one who had cast his doubts on the luxury car’s ability to navigate the road to the estate. He was dressed in an all-denim outfit, complete with a denim vest festooned with assorted patches. If the man wasn’t seven feet tall, he wasn’t far from it, and he had a thick, solid build that probably put him in the range of three hundred pounds of mostly muscle. He tipped back his mug of beer, then set it down to puff at his cigar.

That’s Jace. In case you’re wondering, he’s my sister’s... uh... I suppose you’d call him a bouncer? Remi said.

He’s allowed to smoke in here? Charlotte whispered.

"Hah! If you were a state inspector and you saw that guy smoking, would you tell him to stop? Remi said. No one gets between Jace and his cigar."

Charlotte turned back to the bartender. She was a cherubic woman with curly blonde hair. She was pleasantly plump and managed to be vibrating with enthusiasm even while standing still. This was a woman born to run a Girl Scout troop. Perhaps it was because she was the only person without sunglasses on, but the vivid blue of her eyes was astonishingly bright. They were the sort of brilliant sapphire color that seemed to cut through the smoky haze of the bar and almost smolder with their own light.

Remi slid over to snag Jace’s mug to top him off. She moved with such a weightless, balletic ease that Charlotte wondered if her feet were even touching the ground.

Lady, Jace said pleasantly, raising his mug before tipping it back and draining half of it again.

So, what’ll it be? Remi asked Charlotte.

Do you have sparkling mineral water? Charlotte asked, fully expecting to be laughed at for such a choice.

We do, but you just took the long drive up from Burlington and you’re asking for sparkling water? Most folks ask for something a little more therapeutic to the old nerves.

I’m not much of a beer drinker.

We’ve got a very good stock of wine and spirits as well.

Charlotte glanced at the mirrored shelf behind the bar. It was mostly the standard assortment of vodka and whiskey, a sort of alcoholic baseline that lower-end bars specialized in.

I’m a little picky about my wine, she said apologetically.

Nothing wrong with a discerning taste. What’ll you have?

I prefer a sweet wine.

Uh-huh. And what’ll you have?

Remi’s tone had yet to be flavored with impatience, but Charlotte could tell it wasn’t far off. A Riesling would be nice.

Mmhmm! Will that be a beerenauslese or trockenbeerenauslese?

Charlotte raised her eyebrows. Um... BA will be fine. Chilled, if that’s—

Remi produced a bottle from behind the bar and set up a glass. Of course it’s chilled, she said with a smile.

She filled the glass and slid it forward. Charlotte accepted it and took a sip. She shut her eyes.

"Oh, that’s