Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

Rose

"Goodnight, Rose. Thanks for staying open for me. I really appreciate it," my customer said, clutching the small decorative bag I handed over containing his purchase.

"No problem at all. Let me know how that rash turns out," I replied with a warm smile, waving as I ushered him out. I closed the door of my shop behind my final customer, the bell above it tinkling softly. With a tired sigh, I turned the weathered "Open" sign to "Closed," officially ending another long day of potion-making and problem-solving.

The setting sun cast a golden glow through the windows, illuminating the shelves lined with colorful bottles and jars of herbs.

I was exhausted. The day had started out as a typical cold and rainy early winter Scottish day, which I assumed would lead to a slow sales day.

I'd been wrong.

It seemed like the entire town needed help in one way or another and had decided my potions would fix all of their problems. Not that I doubted my products. Each and every one would work exactly as advertised. I put everything I had into my creations, and between the science I’d studied in college and a smidge of magic from my parents, I had a damned good product line.

But there was only so much herbal remedies could do. Some things were better left to fate.

Especially when it came to affairs of the heart, I was afraid the women AND men I'd seen today might be out of luck. But if nothing else, they needed a dose of hope before they were ready to face their grief.

I briefly stared up at the storm darkened sky and wrapped my cardigan tighter around me. The days and nights were getting a lot colder, and it would soon be time for me to end my sales season and head back home to the coast.

I preferred to hunker down alone in my cozy cottage for the coldest part of the year. It was the ideal time to test out new products for the next busy season. Spring.

However, this wasn't the time to linger with my wandering thoughts. The pressing needs of others called, and I needed to get to the shelter, quickly.

On a wet and chilly night like tonight, with the wind howling and rain threatening, they'd be swamped and require all hands on deck from their volunteers. The homeless would be seeking warmth and a hot meal, and I was determined to do my part in providing that comfort.

I plucked my rain cloak from the peg inside the door, zipped it up and pulled my hood over my unruly hair, before heading out into the gloomy night. Despite the pang of loneliness, or maybe because of it, I picked up my pace and hurried to the church.

Since I was running late I chose to take a shortcut through the cemetery that sat at the base of the hill below the church. I loved these grounds during the day and often found myself wandering through the maze of headstones whenever I had spare time. They were steeped in tradition and memories of generations past that I always wanted to know more about.

However, it was a little less serene under the cover of darkness. There were too many ghosts lingering here. I couldn't see the dead, but I could sense something on the air, and whatever it was, it was restless.

Despite that, I still found everything about this place beautiful. Tonight, however, I did not have time to linger or I would be late, so I hurried past the engraved headstones that I’d read so many times I had many of them memorized.

As I rushed through the darkness, my feet slipping on the wet grass, I nearly tripped at the sound of a low, throaty growl. The noise sent a chill down my spine, and I paused mid-stride, my heart pounding in my chest. Slowly, I turned to look behind me, afraid of what I'd find lurking in the shadows, but my eyes met nothing more than swirling fog and droplets of rain. The graveyard seemed to stretch endlessly into the gloom, its familiar contours now strange and foreboding.

I wrapped my cloak tighter around me and shrugged off the eerie feeling of unease. It wasn't uncommon for wild dogs to linger in the area at night, I reasoned with myself. Or coyotes, perhaps.

Still, as I resumed my hurried pace, I couldn't shake the feeling that whatever had made that sound was something far more than a mere animal.

I rushed through the darkness, forcing that unsettling thought from my mind, and headed straight to the front doors of the ancient church. The entryway was surprisingly well lit, considering the age of the imposing structure. Warm, golden light spilled out from the windows, a welcoming beacon in the gloomy night.

This place had been built centuries ago, its weathered stone walls bearing witness to the passing of time. It had a tumultuous history, steeped in as much violence as it was in faith, with tales of bloody battles and profound prayer intertwined throughout its long existence.

Every time I entered the building, that rich history washed over me, leaving me slightly dazed. I got a strange sense of déjà vu that I could only chalk up to the lingering spirits of the past. It was as if the very air here held echoes of long-forgotten voices and the faint whispers of countless souls who'd sought solace within these walls. The feeling was both comforting and unsettling, a reminder of the thin veil between the present and the past.

“Hi, Rose.” One of our regular patrons called out when I entered the dining room.

“Hello, Paddy. Good to see you. Glad you decided to come in and get out of this chilly weather.”

“You know me. These old bones don’t care much for the cold.”

I gave him a quick smile and continued to the kitchen, answering several more greetings along the way. Before I hit the kitchen doors, a sense of something different slid down my spine, giving me chills, and forcing me to turn toward the door.

I gasped.

A massive, cloaked figure now stood just inside, obliterating the light from outside and casting an ominous shadow across the room. With his hood pulled low over his face, I couldn't make out any facial features, but the sheer breadth of his shoulders dwarfed that of any other man I'd ever encountered. His feet were planted shoulder width apart, and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides, trembling.

It wasn't the tense posture of a man beaten down by the harsh weather or the often cruel whims of society. No, this was something far more.

This one stood angry, radiating an aura of barely suppressed rage that seemed to crackle in the air around him.

I shook my head, trying to dispel the growing unease. I had no business letting my imagination get the best of me, spinning wild tales from a mere glimpse of a stranger.

Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was no ordinary man seeking shelter from the storm…

It was difficult to tell if we were going to have a problem because of him, but with the hair rising on the back of my neck, there was definitely something off. His aura alone spoke volumes. I’d never seen a man more soaked in red than this one.

A shiver worked down my spine just looking at him. My heart rate kicked up to triple speed and sweat broke out across my forehead despite the chill.

“Rose!” John called from the kitchen. “I could use some help in here.”

I tore my gaze from the stranger. I’d been standing there staring for far too long.

Crap.

“Yes, I'm coming.” I called back as I pushed through the door and shrugged off the odd feelings still pressing against my skin. “I’m sorry I was late. The shop was so busy today.”

“You know we understand and are grateful for whatever time you can give us. But since you’re here would you mind starting another batch of stew? We’re already almost wiped out. It’s been crazy tonight.”

“I figured it would be." I motioned toward the ceiling. "Full moon.”

John shook his head, smirking. “It’s not superstition, Rose. It’s just the weather. It turned faster than we expected and people have shown up in droves for a hot meal and shelter from the cold.”

I shrugged off John’s disbelief and quickly hung my cloak on a peg. He didn't believe in the supernatural, but many here did. Scotland had a long history of the strange and unusual and I believed those folk tales came from somewhere, even if they had been embellished over the years.

I grabbed one of the aprons and a hair tie from my pocket. There’d been no time to wrangle the frazzled mess I called hair before I headed this way and now it was damp and sticking to my skin.

“I’ll get started on another pot of stew right away."

"Thanks." He smiled. "You really are the best. And I'm not surprised to see so many people show up for your food. It's incomparable."

Warmth spread through my chest at his praise. It made me happy that others enjoyed my cooking. While the stew was nothing special, it did have a secret ingredient, But that was more for the wellbeing of the clients who came through here than the taste.

Most of the men and women who came to the shelter had a variety of issues that made their lives difficult. Depression, anxiety, and PTSD just to name a few. If my all organic, homegrown herbs could give them even a few moments of calming peace, or improve their health, it was well worth it and I'd happily make one hundred pots of the stew.

I only wished I could do more. Most of the profit from my store came through the shelter, and I volunteered as much of my time that I could spare when in town, but it never seemed like enough.

I disappeared into the far recesses of the kitchen and gathered everything I would need. Winter wasn't my favorite season either. Except for the time I would spend at the cottage alone. That I always looked forward to.

I hummed as I worked. Chopping and peeling while my broth steeped to perfection. As the chill from my walk over disappeared, I found myself peeling layers of clothing off as I progressed until I was down to nothing but my tank top and skirt underneath the apron I wore to keep my clothes clean.

"How's it going back here? I'm out of stew out front, and we've still got more people coming in. Should I heat something else to tide us over until you're done?"

"No need," I said as I turned to him and wiped my hands on a fresh towel. "It's ready."

He smiled wide and looked so relieved that for a second I thought he might clap his hands in glee or something else crazy like that. I shook my head of that ridiculous notion. Although the gleam in his eye had caught me off guard.

"Perfect. I'll carry the pot out front and if you want to help me dish up the bowls, it would be much appreciated."

"Of course." I hurried behind him as he hefted the heavy cast iron pot with ease.

I pushed through the door and stopped in my tracks. There he sat, in the far corner, as far away from the kitchen as he could get. Alone. I'd forgotten all about him when I got lost in cooking. But now I wanted to know more about him.

His aura radiated darker red than even before. But that wasn't all. The metal ladle in my hand dropped to the ground, the noise clanging through the small space so loud it hurt my ears.

I swallowed thickly and blinked furiously to clear my eyes. Because what I saw behind the giant of a man sitting frozen at the table with a spoonful of my stew halfway to his mouth was impossible.

There was a green dragon standing there, growling in my direction.

The same sound I'd heard in the cemetery.