"He taught her that courage wasn't the absence of fear-it was running anyway, especially if someone you loved was running beside you."
"They were an unlikely equation-the boy who ran from monsters and the girl who stood her ground. But in the space...
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*💚Julia's POV💚*
Wickles Manor was a labyrinth of shadows and forgotten grandeur, so vast it felt less like a house and more like a geographical feature. I'd get lost in five minutes flat if I were ever alone here. Scooby had already wandered off, his voice a distant, determined murmur.
"Search for clues. Search for clues..."
"You guys are taking this whole detective thing seriously," I said to Shaggy as we ventured down a long hallway lined with stern-looking portraits.
"I don't wanna drag the gang down anymore," he said, his voice losing its earlier bravado. He stopped walking and turned to me, his expression earnest in the dusty gloom. "Especially you, Jewels."
My heart squeezed. I reached out, my hand resting on his arm. "You have never dragged me down," I said, my voice firm. "And you never will."
A real, grateful smile touched his lips, followed by a quick, sweet kiss on my cheek. Before I could say more, his attention was snagged by a monstrous, cobweb-draped gramophone squatting on a side table.
"Hmm, a clue?" he mused, adopting a detective's squint. He turned the crank. Nothing. He peered into the horn. Still nothing. Being Shaggy, his next logical step was to lean in and blow.
A cloud of ancient dust exploded into his face. He stumbled back, sputtering, just as the gramophone wheezed to life with a tinny, haunting waltz.
I couldn't help it—a burst of laughter escaped me. He was frantically wiping dust from his tongue. "Oh, Shags," I chuckled, stepping closer to brush the worst of the grey powder from his hair and shoulders.
Just then, Scooby trundled back into the hallway, his arms piled high with... stuff. A toilet brush. A candlestick. A gravy boat. A dusty teddy bear.
"Scoob..."
"Clues!" he declared proudly, and dumped the entire collection on the floor with a clatter.
"Those aren't clues, Scoob," Shaggy said, wiping the last of the dust from his eyes. "Those are just things you want. Like, why is a toilet brush a clue?"
Scooby picked up the brush, held it like a microphone, and launched into a surprisingly tuneful, if muffled, rendition of "My Way."
"Just because you can sing into it doesn't make it a clue," Shaggy argued, but a grin was spreading across his face. "It just makes it awesome!" He grabbed a candlestick for his own impromptu microphone, and soon they were duetting into their makeshift gear, Scooby scatting a jazzy "Scooby-dooby-doo!"
I watched, my earlier worry melting into fond amusement. Then a sliver of paper stuck to Scooby's paw caught the light. I knelt and gently peeled it free.
