Page 41 of Deadly Lineage
“You’re welcome. Please be careful and respectful of the material,” Gladys admonished before she left us alone.
“I wouldn’t want to cross that one,” I said while hooking a thumb in Gladys’s exiting direction.
“Nor I,” Franklin agreed. “I suspect Mrs. Campion and my nana would have a lot in common.” Franklin sounded uncomfortable with the idea of the two ladies joining forces.
“Get into some trouble with your nana when you were younger?” I teased.
“I’m still getting into trouble with her,” Franklin lamented as his gaze swept the room. “Looks like the shelves are numbered.” He walked toward the closest row and tapped a piece of paper with dates written on it. “Looks like this row contains information from before 1700.”
I moved to the next row. “This one is 1700 to 1750.” I shifted another row. “And this one is from 1750 to 1800. I’m sensing a pattern.” That was true until I got later into the 1800s. “Civil War,” I stated while tapping the piece of paper. “The next two rows are dedicated to 1860 to 1870.” I peeked down the dimly lit row littered with binders, boxes, books, and other artifacts.
“We may need that section eventually. According to her obit, Lorelai Winston died in 1832. Let’s start looking in the 1800 to 1850 row. We might need to backtrack to when she was born, but I suspect starting at her death will prove more fruitful.”
I gave a two-fingered salute before heading down the aisle. Franklin took the right side and I grabbed the left. “Any ideawhat I’m looking for exactly?” Honestly, the old books and binders appeared a bit overwhelming.
“Looks like there’s more specific dates on the shelving, at least on my side.”
Taking a closer glance, I saw Franklin was correct. “I see that.”
“Winston’s obit was short, perfunctory, and to the point. I’m hoping there’s more written in a local paper,” Franklin said, his voice muffled as he began rooting around.
“Got it,” I answered, getting busy. “I’m honestly surprised any of this survived given how many wars have been fought since Lorelai died.”
Franklin grunted. “No argument here.”
I began leafing through binders of old papers. The room smelled like old, rotting paper. While I understood funding issues, what I also realized was that if these ancient papers weren’t digitized soon, there wouldn’t be anything left to salvage. Years of humidity hadn’t done them any favors, and moving everything to a better, environmentally-controlled building was most likely too little, too late.
Still, the effort was impressive. Humans were unique in that they documented and kept their histories much better than other species. Pops speculated it was because humans had such short lives that they wanted to make certain they were remembered. I didn’t know if he was right or wrong, but figured it was a good guess.
Placing a group of old newspapers back on the shelf, I said, “I bet a witch could craft a charm that would search out what we want and we’d have the information in no time.” I snapped my fingers, placing an auditory punctuation mark on my idea. I didn’t know if Franklin’s grunt was agreement or not, but now that my mind conjured one idea, it was off and running. “Or maybe brownies.” I nodded even though Franklin couldn’t seeit past the books on his side. “That’s a very good idea. I’ll bet a brownie would be better. They’ve probably got some kind of magical sixth sense.” I wiggled my fingers at the stacks of papers for effect. “All they’d need to do is think about what they wanted to find and voila!”
I picked up another stack of newspapers, revealing Franklin’s curious, bemused gaze.
“What?” I asked. “You think I’m wrong?”
“Honestly, I have no idea. I’ve got jack shit when it comes to how brownie magic works.”
I shrugged. “Neither do I. Fairies probably don’t know either. They just like to pretend like they’ve got it all figured out.”
Franklin’s eyebrow rose. “I wouldn’t tell a fairy that.”
“Obviously,” I answered with an eye roll. “I don’t have a death wish.”
Franklin’s deep chuckle made my stomach swoop. “No, I’ve never gotten that vibe from you. Good thing too.”
Lucky thing too, I thought. Not all necromancers were so fortunate. In fact, as far as I knew, I was sort of the mentally sane unicorn of the necromancer world.
Franklin and I continued searching in near silence. A song took up residence in my brain and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t evict it. Humming quietly, I figured I’d gone over the chorus at least seventy times when Franklin’s satisfied, “I’ve got something,” broke through my mental musical monotony.
Quickly setting my stack back on the shelf, I scurried to the other side and asked, “What did you find?”
Much like my side, Franklin’s had bound stacks of newspapers. Their edges were worn and some of the pages had chunks missing. Thankfully, the article Franklin’s finger traced seemed intact.
“It’s a longer version of Lorelai Winston’s obituary. Give me a minute,” Franklin said while his index finger sped along thepage. Hurried, mumbled words slipped through his lips as he quietly whispered the article aloud. His eyes widened and his finger backtracked. “This is it.”
“Itwhat?” I tried looking over his shoulder, but Franklin’s height made it impossible for me to see clearly enough to read the small, faded print.
“Children. Or more to the point, child.”
