Lost Treasure of the Gypsy Dawn Chapter1

Chapter 1

~*~
Aden Dawn brushed his long black locks from his eyes. He was winded; The trunk was far too big for him to carry alone, but the secret could be trusted to no one else. Slowly and quietly, he dragged the massive chest into the empty manor. The light from the setting sun was barely enough for him to see the sweeping, grand staircase. He had very little time. Soon, his mother and father would arrive to finally move into the “grandest estate to be built in the Americas.” That’s what the builders claimed at least. Aden felt the building was too austere. It was as if his parents wanted to show the world that they were as pure and proper as the rest of the elite. There was war and famine, and his family chose to build a house. He shook his head in disappointment.

At the top of the stairs, Aden stopped for a breath. He sat on the gold-plated chest, ran his hands over the oddly purple leather. Inside was hidden a massive secret, one that could blow his family’s perfect picture apart. Aden knew that he should feel some guilt in hiding it away, but he felt less and less ashamed as the hours dragged on. He would leave it for someone else to find. He could no longer hunt for something that he was very sure would try and kill him. With an enormous sigh, he continued on to the small attic door. He knew of a hidden nook where he could stow his treachery, and he planned on making it impossible to find again.
~*~

“Ma!” A young man hollered down the stairs into the small living room of a tiny duplex.

“What?” came the harassed reply.

“Where’s my pants?” In boxers, a lanky red headed teenager clambered down the hall. “Jade called! I’m going over to her place to help her clean the attic. She said that there’s probably lost heirlooms and treasures all over. It hasn’t been searched for like a million years.” He spoke at a pace that, to the uninitiated, seemed faster than humanly possible.

His mother’s face appeared around a corner from the kitchen. “Excuse me?” Her patience was an act, and he knew it.

Slowly, he straightened and put his hands behind his back. “May I please ride my bike to Jade’s house? She wants help cleaning her attic.”

Mrs. Adams was a fiercely loving mother with a sharper wit than people gave her credit for. “Don’t they have maids for that kind of work?”

Her son, Marcus, groaned. “Ma!”

She sighed and wiped her soapy hands on a towel before turning to him. “Your jeans are in your dresser, where they belong. Yes, you may go to Jade’s house,” she put a hand up to stall Marc’s rush, “after you take out the trash and feed Duke.”

Marc Adams was an average 15 year old boy. He loved video games, his dog, and anything that held even a note of mystery. He lived with his single mother in their small home in their small town, Willow. He would be starting high school in the fall. This summer, he’d decided, had to be the greatest; There was no other option. His best friend, Jade, was going to a New York boarding school in August. This was their last summer to get into and out of messes together. If he were being honest with himself, he was a bit desperate. Jade was his closest and only friend.

Although Duke had already been fed, Marc filled his bowl again. The giant mutt was grateful and showed his appreciation by sobering all over Marc’s hands. Marc smiled at the dog. At the door, he told him to stay. Usually he took Duke on their adventures, but Jade’s house was off limits.

His tires skidded as he braked outside Jade’s house. The first time he’d seen it, Marc had called it a mansion. He was older now, so he called it a manor. Both titles made Jade blush, which was, of course, Marc’s intention. The house had to have been hundreds of years old. It had been in Jade’s family since before Willow was even Willow. Marc shook his head. He could never quite grasp the greatness of such a long standing structure. He walked down the well groomed path in front of the home, slightly in awe of the way the summer sun hit stained glass windows on the second floor, creating a colored light that danced on the walls inside. He wasn’t suppose to, but when he reached the great front door, Marc pulled the rope next to his right shoulder. A huge bell tolled from within the house. He could hear Jade laughing inside. He grinned. When the door opened, however, it wasn’t by Jade. It was Harold, the ancient butler that had been serving Jade’s family since probably before television had been invented. He looked unimpressed. Marc wasn’t worried; Harold always looked like that. “Master Marcus. For the thousandth time, do not touch the door bell. It is an antique.”

“Sorry, Harold,” Marc said, still grinning. “I keep forgetting.” He slipped past the old man and just missed the slight twitch of the butler’s mouth. Jade was there then, standing in the light of the massive chandler that Marc never knew even lit.

“One of these days, he’s going to refuse to open the door for you,” she murmured to him, as he walked up to her, a smirk on her pretty face.

Marc shrugged, tearing his eyes from the great fixture above them to look at her. “Hey Jade. So, I didn’t know you had an attic. Why do you have to clean it anyway? Where’s your parents?”

Jade, a striking youth with golden amber eyes and long dark hair, was use to her strange friend’s habit of spitting out every thought that was in his head all at once.

When the boy stopped talking to take a breath, Jade replied. “I do have chores, you know.” She sounded insulted. But Marc knew better.

“No you don’t.”

Jade sighed. “I got caught in my dad’s library again.”

Marc shook his head. He was confused, but not worried. Jade always explained things in her own time. “We need to work on your sneaking skills. What was it this time?”

Jade’s eyes lit up. ”Journals.”

To look at them, the two teenagers seemed unlikely companions. Marc had dressed quickly and was subsequently wearing two different shoes. His thick red hair had been wetted and quickly brushed back with his fingers. The clothes he wore, while clean, were not the highest quality. Jade, on the other hand, was stunningly well put together. She wore only a T-shirt and jeans, but both were name brand.

The two friends, however, shared an uncommon love of old things. They met at the local library when they were in elementary school. Both were researching the settlement of their small town. When they discovered that most of the oldest records were lost to a fire in the 1800’s, they went on a hunt for the truth. Now, at the entrance of the Willow City Library, was a small leather bond tomb entitled, The Partial History of Willow City written by 10 year olds, Marcus Adams and Jade Dawn. They had been nearly inseparable ever since.

Marc’s long strides made it difficult for Jade to keep up, so she stopped at the bottom of a sweeping staircase that led to the second floor. Marc stopped too, his eyes bright with curiosity. “And?”

“Marc, I think my family was involved with the settling of the city,” she began biting her nails as she talked, a nasty, unladylike habit that her mother despised. “It was written by my great great great, million times great Grandmother. She was talking about the unfair treatment of our family.”

“Is that because you’re gypsies?” Marc gently pulled her hands away from her mouth. She didn’t seem to notice. He could tell she was too excited to care that he was teasing her.

“Romanian. Yes.” She started walking up the stairs. “Anyway, she was talking about witch hunts. I think one of my ancestors was burned at the stake for being a witch!” She threw her arms up in delight. “But I didn’t get to read very much because Harold caught me.”

Marc could feel his face flushing with excitement. “No way! I didn’t know you were a witch!” Jade’s eyes darkened playfully and she punched Marc in the arm. “Ouch! Easy, Jay. That’s my pitching arm.”

“You don’t play baseball,” She retorted, turning a corner.

They had reached the end of a long hallway. A plain door stood there, cast in total shadow. A skeleton key waited to be turned. Dust lay on the handle. In his shock, all thoughts of burned gypsies left his mind. Marc had never seen anything in the immaculate Dawn estate look that dirty. “Is that the attic?” He felt himself whispering.

Jade replied in kind. “Harold is scared of the attic. He won’t tell me why.” It was as if she were answering a question that Marc never asked.

“And we’re suppose to go in there?” Marc felt an unnatural chill. “Jade, this is how horror movies start.” The glint that told him Jade was up to something flashed in her bright eyes. “Oh. We aren’t suppose to be up there either?” Her smiled was enough of an answer. “Jade, you lied to me.” He wasn’t really mad. He hadn’t really believed that Jade’s parents had given her chores anyway.

“But the journal talked about my house—“

“—Manor.”

“and, it talked about a hiding place.” Jade’s eyes were bright with her excitement. “What if it’s up there?”

If Marc had been thinking clearly-a rare but informative occurrence- he would have asked how Jade jumped to that massive conclusion. Instead, he thought about secrets, history, and adventure. This was exactly what the two friends needed this summer.

They looked at one another. They’d known each other for years, and that look held an entire conversation as they slowly approached the entrance.

“Should we?”
“What if?”
“It won’t hurt!”
“We might find something good!”

With matching grins, they turned the key and opened the door.

What met them was a cold wind. It rushed passed them as if searching to fill every crack and corner of the hallway. Marc glanced at Jade. Her hair had been blown back by the breeze and her cheeks were fully flushed. She was staring up into the darkened doorway, and it looked as if she’d forgotten to breath. Marc shivered. He felt as if they were on the brink of something big, like Hardy Boys big.

“Well, go!” He told Jade, nudging her gently with his shoulder.

She blinked and then looked at him. “What?”

“Go, Jade.” He gestured towards the open door, his voice still barely above a whisper.

She shifted back a step and pushed him gently. “No. You go.”

Marc had never seen her look like that, like she was scared. A unexpected urge to protect came over him. It was almost like it wasn’t his emotion, but he stood in front of her anyway. “Okay. I can go first.” He walked up a step, and Jade followed, then another step. As his feet brought him up the creaky steps, he vaguely wondered why he’d agreed to this. His heart pounded, and he thought he could hear Jade’s do the same. He lifted his leg, trying to take another step, but something stopped him. It felt like a wall of air was trying to push him back. Jade tried to look over his shoulder. Marc, with a grunt, surged forward, up the step, passed the wall.

The breeze subtly shifted, and the chill in the air lessened. Jade shivered, shook her head, and pushed passed Marc. “Move faster.” She rushed up the stairs. Marc rolled his eyes, losing the sensations immediately, and followed her.

“Here’s what I don’t understand,” Marc mumbled, partially to himself. “How can we find a hiding place that hasn’t been found in however long its been since someone wrote that journal?”

Jade’s pace slowed, and she turned to look at him. “Good question.” She narrowed her eyes. “Better question; Why is Harold afraid of the attic?” She started back up the stairs. “The only way to answer is to take a look.”

“I don’t see why your question is better than mine.”

“Because I’m smarter.”

Though the stairway wasn’t very long, there was a slight turn at the top, obscuring everything but the steps. When they turned to corner, they were disappointed. There was no gleaming treasure beckoning them towards it with the voices of angels echoing around them. There was no altar that contained the clues to creation. Instead, the two couldn’t see anything as they walked up the last few steps. The room was blanketed in a dusty, dark shadow. “Now what?” Marc whispered.

“We need light,” Jade replied, squinting. She hesitantly toed her way to her left where slivers of light seemed to glow from behind a dark fabric. In a dramatic flash, Jade ripped a moth-eaten curtain from a small circular window. Dust, light, and bugs filled the space and for a moment Marc was blinded by it. He coughed. Jade sneezed.

Moments crawled by as the room settled. Marc was afraid to move. It felt like they had just breached the inner temple of some long secret tomb. His skin crawled as he imagined numerous booby-traps that could be tripped. Jade wiped her forehead. It was muggy in the room; The air felt stale, and it tasted like dirt and cobwebs. “Wow.” His voice seemed magic, lifting the tension in the room, making the light brighter. They looked around them, slightly in awe.The room was full of trunks, not even boxes, leather bound trunks. The corners of the massive space was stacked with lamps, books, and mounds of lumpy things that were once probably clothing. Eras were noticeable in the quality of the junk that surrounded them. There were rows, shelves, and sections. It seemed as though they had walked into an artifact library of the Dawn family history.

Jade’s eyes were wide, watering in the gritty air. “Yeah. Wow.” With that, the two began walking through the rows of trunks, looking at everything, but touching nothing. “Where do we start?”

“I don’t know.” He really didn’t. Marc was overwhelmed by the amount of things to be explored. He met Jade around a corner and was amused to find a wide grin spread across her face. He knew that his own face mirrored it. “Let’s start with the books.”

With an ear turned towards the stairway, Jade and Marc explored the first few layers of the room. The afternoon sun bore down through the small grated window as if its light was for them alone. Most of the things they’d found were old newspapers, novels in foreign languages, and brittle receipts. Marc had decided to call this section of the immense attic, the Modern Era. The Christmas decorations, complete with homemade ornaments Jade’s father had made as a child, convinced Marc that they needed to look deeper.

“It’s like every generation had a portion of the attic that doesn't disturb other portions.” Jade’s voice came from around a bookshelf where Marc had uncovered someone’s baby pictures. Her remark that so eerily matched his own, hung in the air, waiting for him to validate it.

“I know. I bet that if we walked far enough, we’d discover evidence from when mammoths walked the Earth.” He almost nearly believed it. They met in the center aisle. The floor’s thick layer of undisturbed dust proved, once again, that no one really ever came up here.

“Um… Marc?” Her voice was hushed, and the room leeched the sound from the air around them. She felt that she shouldn't speak loud; the raftered ceiling was like the arches of a cathedral, made for prayers and silent reflection. She felt it all start to change, looked at the woodwork on the walls, really looked at them. The grains were shedding in their age. The color had faded. The smell had turned to rot. But in that exact moment it was new, freshly sanded. It wrapped the room and made it feel safe. Jade smiled. The Dawn family had worked hard, earned this new start. She knew she wasn’t alone here, either. She could almost hear the scraping of a large object being drug across the new floor of the new attic in the new manor.

“Jade?” Marc grabbed her shoulder. “What the crap?”

“What?” Jade shivered and looked at him. Whatever spell was on her had lifted. “What?” She repeated.

“Where did you go?” Marc was looking at her face, concerned.

Jade raised her eyebrows, her mouth slight open in quiet shock. She didn’t think she could actually answer him. “I- I don’t know.”

“Come on. We should go.” He started for the stairs. Jade didn’t follow him. She felt like she’d been here before. She looked at the small indent in the wall to her right. She’d been there before. “Jade!” She blinked. The memory that had stayed at the tip of her recollection dissipated. She followed Marc down the stairs, trying to remember something that she couldn’t quite catch.

In the early years of their friendship, Neither Marc nor Jade understood why their parents were so weird about it. As they got older, they started to figure things out. Marc’s mom was single. She worked hard for the little that they had. She was a proud woman. Jade’s parents both came from old money. They held important positions in the community as well as the nation. They were proud people. They were all decent parents, but they didn’t agree with each other on pretty much anything. When it became apparent that their children’s relationship wasn't a fleeting thing, they came to a silent agreement. It mostly entailed not really talking and avoiding communication as much as possible. Because of this, Jade and Marc could get away with quite a bit.

“I’m going to Marc’s! His mom is making cookies!”

“Hey Mom. Jade’s cook has a new cookie recipe. I’m staying for a bit.”

Then, they’d kind of fall between the cracks.

There’s a forest that bordered Willow. Jade’s property skirted it. Three summers ago, Marc and Jade had gone on a wilderness expedition after ditching their parents. They hadn’t really been looking for anything, but when they discovered an old wagon trail on the very edge of the Dawn estate, they’d followed it. It wasn’t easy. The foliage made it difficult to even see the trail. Half the time, they’d lose it, wandering on a hunch this direction or that, until they’d stumble upon it again. It led them about two miles into the woods to a small clearing. They found a small abandoned hunting cabin. It was severely damaged and very old, probably built during the original settling of the town. As would-be archeologists, they explored the building for days and days. They found tools, leather canteens, and battered furniture, as well as an old wood burning furnace. It became their cabin, their secret, and they never told anyone about it. Over the years, they’d done things to it, fixed the roof, brought sleeping bags, books, cleaned the chimney. One year, as a joke, Jade had painted the word, “Lair,” over the door. It hadn’t faded, and the name stuck.

This is where the two went after they escaped the house. It wasn’t as if they planned it, but they both avoided talking about what happened. Neither really knew if anything actually did happen in the attic. They couldn’t remember, and that scared them. Marc threw himself into a bean bag chair that he’d lifted from his neighbor’s trash. Jade stood at a glassless window. She was looking at a large maple tree near the cabin. It had grown since their first summer here. How much would it grow, she wondered, while she was gone away to school? She sighed and lowered herself into a rocking chair they’d found in the cabin. “92 days.”

Marc nodded. “I know. I have a calendar.” He unwrapped a candy bar he took from the cupboard. “I call it the Countdown to Doomsday.”

“It might not be too bad.” Jade messed with the stitching on her shirt. She avoided looked at him, knowing Marc’s face would be incredulous.

“Not too bad?” She heard him stand up. “Jade, you’re leaving Willow. You’re leaving the Lair. You’re leaving bad cafeteria food and jokes about the Mayor’s hair.” He took a step closer to her. “You’re leaving me.”

Jade snorted. “It’s not like we won’t talk every single day.” She finally looked at him. She could tell that he was hurt, but he hid it behind a goofy smile. Somehow that made her more sad.

“I’m putting in a pool while you're gone.”

They laughed together, and then changed the subject again. It was way too hard to talk about something that wasn’t going to happen for another 92 days. This was the way they’d avoided talking about Jade leaving all year. When he’d first heard about it, Marc had locked himself in his room and attempted to plan a rescue. He had gotten very detailed-something about a train heist-before he’d finally admitted defeat. Jade had begged and pleaded with her father. She could get just as good of an education here. No, she didn’t care that the boarding school had the highest recommendations. No, she didn’t want to go to school with the President’s daughter. Yes, she knew he wanted the best for her. Of course she wanted to make the most of her life. It had been just as futile as the train heist rescue.

Pretty soon after that, Jade looked into the school. It looked incredible. There were horse corrals, a library that was bigger than the entire Willow Jr. High School, and an astronomy observatory. 80% of the graduates were accepted into an Ivy League of their choice, the rest had to settle with one or two options. It was exactly the kind of start she needed to reach her goals. Marc had also looked into the school. It was everything he feared. The place was so perfect for his best friend that Marc felt guilty hating it so much. He knew his aversion to the school was fully based on the fact that he could never get into a place like that, and that it was stealing Jade from him. He didn’t care that he was being unreasonable. He didn’t talk to Jade about it. She didn’t talk to him about it. It was the first time they’d kept a secret from each other.

So, they talked about anything but that. As the afternoon sun crept behind the large trees, Marc told stupid stories and Jade laughed. This was their favorite time of year, after all; Nothing to do, no-one to answer to. They realized fairly quickly, though, that they both wanted more and more to talk about the attic.

Jade tried to explain what she’d experienced. The words were hard to gather, but she felt that she was able to get the idea out. Marc stared at her. “Seriously?”

Jade nodded. “It was like it was all new. And I knew that I’d been there before.” She shivered although the temperature was almost to triple digits.

“So,” Marc looked closely at Jade. She met his eyes. “You…really are a witch.”

Jade snorted and pushed him back into the beanbag chair. “Thanks a lot.”

Marc grinned. “Maybe we should go back to the attic.” He was thinking about the rows and rows of unexplored history. Jade thought about the feel of dragging something heavy across a new floor.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Marc found his Nerf gun. He shot Jade with it, and the war began. They chased each other within their Lair. Laughter rang through the woods. All thoughts of dragging things and visions and old books were forgotten for a few hours.

“I think I need to get my hands on that journal again, “Jade told Marc as they were closing up the Lair for the night.

Marc nodded. “Good idea. If you’re ancestor was burned at the stake, we should find her name. She should at least get some recognition.”

Jade smirked. “And we can make an addendum to our book.”

They began the walk back. Marc chuckled. “‘Although Willow seems a sleepy town, she hides an awful secret, witch hunts.’ I can see the Mayor now. His hair would be so mad!”

“Hey, Marc?”

“Yeah?” He was looking up, watching the last of the pink sky fade.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” But he knew. Jade didn’t answer, she didn’t need to. The silence was uncomfortable. That had never happened before, and Marc didn’t like it.

When they reached the fence line, Jade promised to call tomorrow. Marc watched her go, feeling something like sadness, but not quite. He didn’t want to know what it was, so he turned, picked his bike off the ground where he’d left it earlier that day, and walked down the fence line. It would eventually meet the road, but until then, Marc could pretend that he was all alone on the world; He was the only one who could see the stars behind the outstretched tree branches.

‘It might not be too bad…’

Marc shook his head. He was so lost in though that he could almost hear Jade’s voice again. Very suddenly, Marc had chills. The trees stopped looking thoughtful and began to look treacherous. The night sky wasn’t peaceful, it was dangerous. He heard a snap of a twig behind him. It shouldn’t have, but the sound sent terror into every part of Marc. He turned, froze. Somewhere in the dusk, something was lurking. He knew it. It wasn't his imagination. Something was there. Squinting, his palms sweaty as they clutched the handles of his bike, he peered into the trees. There! Something was moving. A shadow crept from tree to tree, moving towards him. It was slow, graceful, hypnotic.

RUN! The voice came from everywhere, or maybe just in his mind. Regardless, Marc no longer cared what it was that followed him. He only wanted to get home. He jumped onto his bike and took to the trail as fast as he could. As he peddled, he felt the hair on his neck rise as if whatever was chasing him had reached out to him, for him. He’d never reached the road beyond the path that fast. He barely slowed until he reached his own front door racing through the small town streets like a madman. There was no way he was going outside again tonight, so he quickly stowed his bike where it was suppose to go instead of throwing it around until his mom told him to put it away. He unlocked his door and rushed inside. Safe.