In the end, there honestly wasn’t much window shopping to do. Oakwood was a comparatively tiny community, without much in the way of local services. I imagined that day trips to Glastonbury, which was only about a fifteen to twenty minute drive away, were common.

There was a small greengrocer which was just big enough to have most of the staples and also doubled as the local news stand. Directly across from it was the town’s small police house, probably just big enough for a single constable (I couldn’t imagine Oakwood having more than that…or any crime to speak of), and a cozy looking little garden shop.

I thought I recognized some of the flowers in the garden shop’s window from Dara’s collection of rare plants, and made a mental note to contact the owner and find out. If they were one of the people Dara had mentioned as having received medicinal herbs from her years ago - or, more likely, had inherited or bought the shop from someone who had - they might be interested in reopening that line of contact.

After that there was a quaint little dress shop, a small bookshop, the town library and meeting hall, and then the Oak & Ivy Pub. I noticed immediately upon arriving there that even though it wasn’t quite dinner time yet, the pub already had a fair number of people in it.

I guess there wasn’t much else to do in a small town like Oakwood on a Thursday evening.

Bracing myself for the inevitable flood of comparisons to my mother, I opened the door and stepped inside, accompanied by the pleasant jingle of the bell above the door.

Conversation, thankfully, did not stop. Neither did everyone turn to stare at me all at once.

So much for those clichés. I wasn’t about to complain.

Malcolm O’Day spotted me at once, however, and waved me over to the bar, so I made my way across the room to him.

The pub’s clientèle appeared to be mostly older men - I guessed that the average age of the room was late sixties to early eighties - with a few women mixed in here and there. Several of them looked at me in surprise as I passed, then smiled and gave me politely subdued greetings, which I returned with (probably uncertain) smiles and murmured greetings.

It wasn’t at all noisy. Somehow, I’d expected it to be louder. But the noise level was a sort of loud murmur…it wouldn’t be hard for someone to make themselves heard over the buzz of quiet conversations. There was no sense, at least to my ear, that it was a tense or uneasy quiet; this just wasn’t a rowdy crowd.

Yet, I thought to myself. It was still early, and it looked like the dart board hadn’t been touched yet.

“Good evening to you, Miss Reid,” Malcolm said with a smile as I reached the bar. “What can I get for you? The missus has a lovely beef stew on the stove with fresh bread bowls, or I could whip up a sandwich for you if you’d rather.”

My stomach surprised me by rumbling, and I wondered just how long I’d been wandering the hallways after leaving Dara’s garden. The clock said it had only been three hours, but it felt longer somehow. Or maybe the combination of my spellcasting that morning and the walk into town had revived my appetite. “The stew sounds wonderful,” I said with a smile, sitting on one of the tall chairs that lined the bar. “And please, call me Caley.”

His smile warmed. “As you will. And don’t sound so surprised…as I recall, your mother had quite an appetite too.” He winked.

Yes, she would have. I wondered what kind of a weight loss program learning spellcasting would make…or if the calories it burned were merely from effort and not actual energy usage. Something else to add to my research list, assuming there was an answer. I’d start by asking Ken.

“I’m glad you showed up this evening,” Malcolm said conversationally. “I was a bit worried you might not. I’ll introduce you around later.”

“Thank you, Malcolm, I appreciate it,” I said. “And I wouldn’t have missed this. If I’m going to put down serious roots here, I need to start getting to know people, right?’

He beamed. “Precisely so! Not that this lot will expect you to remember all of their names in one go. I’m not sure some of them can remember their own names by the end of the evening. Fortunately, everyone’s within walking distance, so I don’t need to collect any car keys.” He winked.

I took my time eating Mrs. O’Day’s delicious stew. It was worth it. The bread bowls in particular were a novelty to me…I’d never had such a thing before, or even thought that it was a possibility. Being able to break off chunks of the bread to go with the stew was a delightful novelty, and I resolved to stop by for a meal whenever I heard she was making them.

I had just settled down with a post-meal cup of tea (I have no idea how Malcolm knew I wanted one, he simply turned up with a cup as I finished the last of the stew) when Malcolm picked up a wine glass and tapped it lightly with a knife to draw attention. Glancing around, I realized that the pub had filled up while I’d been eating, and nervously suspected I knew what was coming.

“If I could have everyone’s attention?” Malcolm said cheerfully. When the pleasant buzz of conversation had died down, he beamed around. “It’s a big day today…Oakwood Manor - “

Manor? That didn't feel quite right.

“ - is once again inhabited by a member of the Reid family!”

Glasses were lifted and a general tone of goodwill was raised as well, which could collectively be translated as ‘huzzah.’

“This,” Malcolm gestured to me, “is Caitlyn Reid, daughter of Franchesca - “

“As if we wouldn’t recognize her!” an elderly man said loudly from over by an ancient Wurlitzer jukebox.

Everyone laughed. Even I smiled at that.

“True enough!” Malcolm said cheerfully. “I hope you’ll all welcome her and make her feel at home here.”

“And teach me how to play darts,” I interjected, wanting to try to make some sort of connection…and a good first impression. “I’ve never actually played before.”

My comment, thankfully, got more friendly laughter and reassurances that they’d teach me.

“On your best behavior, now!” Malcolm added to the room at large, to more laughter and one teasing “Just because we’re old doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten how to treat a young lady proper,” from by the door.

Over the next hour I was introduced to so many people that even with my incredible memory I gave up hoping to keep names with faces after only a few minutes and just let it wash over me. Everyone seemed to have known my mother when she was a little girl, and most of them had fond memories of my parents together while they were married. Many of them expressed relief that the House…they all referred to it as Oakwood Manor or Oakwood Hall, which I filed away for later…was inhabited by a member of the family again. Two older men and one middle-aged woman even leaned in and conspiratorially whispered that they were glad the Manor had a Guardian again.

As things settled back down to what I guessed was pub-normal, and people stopped coming over to introduce themselves and shake my hand (or, in one charming instance, a very elderly gentleman gave my knuckles a slightly shaky kiss), I turned back to Malcolm and murmured, “Just how many people know about the House and what I am?”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Malcolm leaned on the bar and smiled gently. “Most of them on some level realize that there’s more to it than you just being the local land-owner of note. A few, as I’m guessing you’ve realized, are aware that there’s more to it even than that. Only a handful of us really know, however.” He laid a finger alongside his nose. “And I suspect that even we have only pieces of the actual puzzle.”

I opened my mouth to say something and he shook his head. “Things like that are secrets for a reason, Caley. Keep them secret. What we suspect is what we suspect. Sometimes it’s best not to know for certain.”

Which made perfect sense to me. So I left it at that.

Then, God bless their patience, they taught me to play darts. And let me tell you, when it’s being explained to you by a bar full of people, most of whom have had more than two beers, it’s not all that easy to learn.

But somehow, even with more than a little good-natured ribbing, I didn’t find it at all frustrating. Instead, it was like…I suppose it was like being in a room full of grandparents, or favored aunts and uncles, all of whom wanted to help bring you up to speed. It should’ve been overwhelming to me, but it wasn’t.

Instead, I slowly but surely came to understand the difference between single, double, and triple point sections. I learned that the bullseye, while the favored target of showoffs everywhere, was not the most valuable target on the board (at least by the rules they were using).

And, to my intense surprise, I learned that I had an astonishing talent for throwing darts. After a few false starts (to my credit, I did not miss the board even once), I realized that throwing a dart was just creating a parabolic flying curve. All I had to do was connect the dart to the place I wanted it to go on the board with a gentle arc. The pub was a closed environment (barring a couple of ceiling fans), so there was no cross-wind to compensate for, and my body was already pretty well trained for balance and coordination.

Okay, sure, it wasn’t as simple as I’m making it sound. But by the third round, I was within a section or two of where I wanted the dart to be, and by the fifth round I was hitting my mark on just about every throw.

By the end of the seventh round, my arm was starting to ache. Different muscles were in play, and I clearly needed to build them up a bit. So I retired to the bar on a wave of applause and good-natured relief that the new player was done destroying the vets, at least for tonight. I helped things along by buying a round for the house, as I'd intended.

“That was well done,” Malcolm said from behind the bar, sliding me a frosted glass as I collapsed into one of the bar chairs.

I gave it an uncertain look until he smiled and murmured, “It’s just ginger ale. But you’re taking part this way.”

I nodded my gratitude - both for the drink and the advice - and sipped it slowly. “Thank you. That was more fun than I thought it was going to be.”

“Your mother was terrible at it, at first,” he said, leaning against the bar beside me. “Genuinely terrible. Couldn’t even hit the board at first. But your father…after his third or fourth round, he figured it out the same way you did and started hitting his target just about every time.”

“You know,” I said, “people keep comparing me to her because I look so much like her. But the more I learn about my parents, the more I feel like I take after my father.”

Malcolm smiled and nodded. “You’re definitely not as…” He hesitated, searching for the right word.

“Colorful?” The older man sitting to my left suggested.

“Outrageous?” An older woman on my right offered.

Malcolm chuckled. “Your mother was definitely unique. Not that you aren’t…we all are. But…”

“Chessie was more unique than others,” the older man on my left said, then offered his hand. “Bert Fletcher, pharmacist. Three storefronts further down on this side, if you need anything. Your mother used to be something of an herbalist…provided some people in town with rare plants that had useful medicinal properties.” He smiled a little. “If that garden of hers is still there and not a disaster, you’d make a lot of people happy by taking up that practice again.”

I nodded. “I just found the garden today, actually, and it’s in amazing condition. Give me a few weeks to get settled in, and I can probably pick up that practice.” I returned his smile. “I’d like to, actually. I’m still trying to figure out what my place in the community is. I don’t know if I have my mother’s green thumb, but if I can help people out that way, I definitely will.”

Mr. Fletcher’s smile warmed. “Glad to hear it, Miss Reid. As for your place in the community, well…” He winked at me and said softly, “You protect the community, don’t you.”

“Bert here is clued in, like me,” Malcolm said comfortably.

“Did a stint as mayor back when your mother had just re-emerged after her parents died,” Mr. Fletcher said. “For what it’s worth in this small town. But one of the mayor’s duties - and I’m sure you’ll meet him before long because of it - is to maintain lines of contact with the Hall and the Guardian, so that if anything…unusual…appears in town you can be notified quickly to deal with it.”

“I see,” I said, and that actually made sense to me. “The police constable, too?” I asked.

“Sometimes,” Mr. Fletcher said. “Constable Sawyer - that’s Blake Sawyer, Charles and Roberta’s oldest boy - is still pretty new to the position, for all he grew up in the area. He’s about your age, I’d guess, and a bit overzealous.

“Thinks he’ll single-handedly wipe out all crime in the area,” one of the darts players - I think his name was George - said, nudging in and passing an empty half-pint mug across the bar. “Another for me, Malcolm.” Then he flashed me a quick grin. “Not that there’s any crime in the area to speak of, at least until the next small batch of kids gets their provisional licenses and go speeding through town in their parents’ cars. And that’s a couple of years off, I think.”

“Here you go, George,” Malcolm said, handing him a fresh half pint.

“Cheers, mates.” He lifted his mug to me. “Miss.” He took a drink, then drifted back towards the darts game.

We watched him go, then Mr. Fletcher chuckled and shook his head. “He’s not wrong. Blake’s a good boy, but overzealous is precisely right. He doesn’t know yet…but then, there hasn’t been any reason for him to know. Aye?”

Malcolm nodded and sighed. “Quite right.” He met my eyes. “I imagine you’ll have to let him in on the secret eventually.”

“Not much of a secret,” Mr. Fletcher grunted. “Pretty much everyone who lived in town at the same time as your parents knew to some extent or other.” He rose, tipped an imaginary hat to me, and smiled. “You come by my shop if you need anything, or when you get your mother’s old garden back in shape. I know a couple of old wives who had a talent for mixing herbal remedies.”

I returned his smile. “I’ll do that, Mr. Fletcher. Thank you.”

He wandered off, while I leaned against the bar and sipped my ginger ale. The pub full of people - while not actually what I would’ve called a ‘crush’ - was starting to overwhelm me a little.

Malcolm must’ve noticed, because he leaned across the bar and murmured, “Nobody will mind if you slip out quietly, lass. Your mother used to come and go like the wind.”

I gave him a grateful look, paid my tab, and slipped out the door into the cool, early evening. Out front, I paused and drew in a deep breath of clear air…nobody had been smoking (thank goodness), but in a closed environment like that, the smell of alcohol had been starting to make me light headed. Even though the ginger ale had been the strongest thing I’d had to drink all evening.

I guessed I was just a lightweight. Never mind. Orienting myself, I started for home.

The walk cleared my head quickly, and I was astonished by the volume of stars I could see in the sky. I wasn’t exactly a city girl, but everywhere I’d lived there’d always been a certain amount of light at night. Oakwood had street lights, and of course the houses were lit, but there was a subdued quality to it. As if I’d stepped back in time sixty or seventy years, or as if they preferred to keep things low key.

And, of course, once I got out of town on the road to home - and without the Moon in the sky - it was profoundly dark. Much darker than I was used to experiencing outdoors. I made a mental note to acquire a flashlight somewhere…then realized how silly that was, scratched that out, and made a mental note to bother Ken about teaching me to make a light with magic.

After another moment, I realized that while it would be good practice, that idea was probably redundant, and said, “Sparkle, can you give me a bit of light?”

In an instant, she was off the Master Key and fluttering along beside me, shedding her gentle purple glow around us. It wasn’t a lot of light, but it was just enough to see by without disrupting my eyes adjusting to the dark. And, as it had when she was acting as my night light, it pushed back the shadows in a way that a mundane light simply didn’t.

“Thank you, Sparkle.”

“You’re welcome, Caley!” She said cheerfully. “Did you have a good time?”

“I did, actually,” I said, both sounding and feeling a bit surprised. “I honestly hadn’t expected to, but…everyone was so friendly and welcoming, and nobody made a big deal out of it once Malcolm introduced me. They just…accepted me.”

Sparkle giggled. “Of course they did. This is your home.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so just walked beside her in silence. The road was empty, the woods silent except for the occasional rustle of some animal moving out beyond the edge of Sparkle’s glow.

It had been, all in all, a wonderful evening.

I felt…revived. Though I couldn’t say why. I pondered it for a few minutes, then set it aside as another piece in the larger puzzle that was my new home.

And there it was now. I unlocked the gate and let us inside the wall. With it locked up behind us, Sparkle and I started up the drive for home.