As they came out of the mountain pass, Maria saw a black lake shimmering with moonlight behind a sleepy town.
“There it is,” Gramps said, pointing. They all paused to look, standing on the last rise of the mountain before they reached the ground. “Ashbourne.”
Relief undid the knots in Maria’s chest. The town was all right; it wasn’t burned to ashes, and no dragon flew above it, roaring and breathing fire onto the citizens below.
“Our luck may not have run out yet,” Gramps said. “Ashbourne and Gelbus the Gnome await us.”
“And the secrets to the world in between,” Maria added.
Freida’s flame grew, painting the rocky path with orange light.
“Yes, and the villagers waiting to be saved.” Gramps led the way, and Sherlock padded behind him, sniffing along the path.
This is good, being back with my family, Maria thought, especially after what happened in the Cave of Delusion.
Then she heard something. Though she wasn’t sure if it was real or if her mind was playing tricks on her, the sound was unmistakable: it was the distant roaring of some great beast. Perhaps the same beast she had dreamed about; the one who shook the trees and blocked out the two moons.
That beast, she now knew, was a dragon.
FINIS
Author Notes - Flint Maxwell October 26, 2017
Thank you for reading all the way to the end of The Midwest Wanderer. I still can't believe this is a thing, you know, readers actually reading my work. I've published about a dozen books since I started this author gig and the feeling of getting a good review or having one of you wonderful readers reach out to me through Facebook or email hasn't lost its luster, nor do I think it ever will. So thank you for all you do for me. Without your hunger for stories, there would be no Maria, Ignatius, or Sherlock—and my life would be especially boring if I never got to write about that talking Bloodhound again.
I read each and every review for book 1. They were all mostly great, and the ones that would be considered bad weren't exactly that bad. I tried to incorporate some of the suggestions you all had into this book. In book 1, Maria was really just a normal nineteen year old girl so I wrote her how I thought she would talk and act even though I've never exactly been a nineteen year old teenage girl. Now, Maria has grown a lot since she defeated Malakai on Main Street, and I think that's evident in book 2 by the way she carries herself and leads the group toward Ashbourne despite all that's thrown in her way. She will continue growing throughout the rest of the series, that I know for sure, and Sherlock will continue doing things he shouldn't be doing…such as marking his territory on Gnomes.
You know, while we are on the subject of Sherlock, I should tell you about his creation. While growing up, I've always had a lot of dogs as pets. When I was in the third grade, I begged my mom for a dog. I mean, begged. She was reluctant to give in, knowing she'd probably be the one who had to take care of it since I was so young, but she did eventually give in. My mom and I drove to Hartville, Ohio one winter evening to a barn that was selling puppies for $50. My mom told me I could take my pick when we got there. I still remember the smell—unpleasant—and the straw strewn all over the floor. The puppies were a mix between Beagle and Lab (a weird mashup, I know) and they all seemed so lively and happy to have company. Naturally, I didn't pick any of these puppies. No, I saw one of them nestled away in the corner, looking quite glum. She was a black Lab with the floppiest ears I've ever seen. I picked her much to my mom's displeasure and named her Cupcake.
Cupcake sat on my lap the whole ride home. Of course, she peed, too, but I didn't mind. She was nervous, but as I looked into her eyes, I could tell she was happy enough. When we got home, Cupcake adjusted slowly, often hiding under a chair in our living room, and there was talk of taking her back to Hartville in exchange for one of the more-livelier puppies, but I wouldn't have it. Third-grade me put his foot down and said she'd come around.
And boy did she ever. Cupcake was soon knocking over the trashcan, chewing shoes, snatching pizza out of our hands, and even on one terrifying occasion, eating paintballs. She had an iron stomach, though. Most of what she ate never bothered her. So for Sherlock, I took this trait and gave it to him. After Cupcake got a little older, my mom caught what I call 'Dog Fever,' and before I knew it, the small house was filled with puppies. At one point we had seven, all of them mostly small ankle-biter types. It was, as you probably assumed, mayhem. But man, was it fun as hell.
So when Martha and I brainstormed Maria's companion, I naturally thought a cat would be the best pet for a witch, an idea that Martha promptly rejected, and rightfully so. A cat? Talk about cliché. We went with a dog instead, and I didn't know he was going to have telepathic abilities until I started writing the first draft of book 1. I knew he was going to communicate with Maria somehow, but had no idea how. The simple answer is magic, but the more complicated answer as to how Maria can hear Sherlock's thoughts is coming in book 3, so stay tuned.
Cupcake passed away almost three years ago. She lived to be close to sixteen years old. She was my first best friend.
