Dream Wakers: The Veiled Prophecy (Book One)

Chapter 8

Lillian watched the aging man saunter through her aisles. He had made brief eye contact when he entered, but nothing more. He read every label of every bottle, his eyes dancing with humor. Her temples grew tight and insecurity warmed her face. She could pick out every small inadequacy as he passed it. She rubbed her hands and took a break from writing notes, observing him behind her busy desk.

Though heavyset for his short stature, he moved with little effort between her tight quarters. His white hair was kept neatly under a tweed cap and his face was tinged with rosacea. She guessed he suffered from pressure headaches by the deep crease between his brow, and perhaps mild pain in his fingers by the way he held his hands so tensely.

"May I help you, sir?" Lillian spoke with gentle humility.

He smiled and came to a deliberate halt before her.

"Quite an inventory, my dear, for your humble location."

"Thank you," she replied.

"May I ask what brought ye to decide on a storefront so far away?"

Lillian wondered what he meant. She never felt comfortable with personal questions and thought about her answer carefully. It wasn't her job to talk about herself and she liked it that way.

"I enjoy the scenery and quiet surroundings."

He paused before speaking again.

"Pardon me," his mild brogue slipped past, "but perhaps I should ask ye differently. What's brought ye so far from the success of the city?"

She smiled politely, uneasy about his mention of city life. Something about the man was starting to upset her. No one here ever talked about the city. They didn't need to, they didn't live there. Her palms started to grow clammy.

"I'm sorry if I don't understand sir, but my answer would still be the same," she lied.

He looked at her thoughtfully.

"Perhaps then, I should ask ye who instead of what?"

Lillian felt the pit of her stomach drop. Her legs began to shake behind the desk. Aillig wasn't there. He was dead in the city she fled from. She was alone without anyone to protect her.

"I'm sorry," she stumbled, "I don't believe we've met. My name is Lillian."

She extended her delicate hand.

"Oh, I quite know who ye are, Miss Blake."

His wide palm engulfed hers, shaking it with a rough strength.

"My name is Dougal."

Lillian's nerves rose to her throat. She didn't recognize him at all.

"I'll not be forgetting my question."

Her stomach grew hot in the silence that stretched between them. Memories flashed behind her deep green eyes. The sensation of the city crowded her, broke the seal on the barrier of safety she'd built. She could hear the distant roar of flames booming in her ears and she could feel the threat of tears weakening her composure. His suspicion felt threatening. This stranger no longer piqued her interest.

"You were such a nervous creature that day."

Lillian glared at him.

"But I don't know you."

"No, ye don't lass," he sighed, "but ye knew my brother, Aillig. I saw ye at his shop the day it burned, but couldn't decide how to approach ye. Then ye were gone and I wasna sure if it was right to try and find ye."