Chapter 2 - The Beacon in the Bleak 

Sunday, August 1, 10:30 AM

Ethan arrived at Prairie Sky Books at noon. Prairie Sky was sandwiched between a hardware store and The Main Street Diner, a breakfast place that never seemed to be open. It was pretty sizable for a local book shop, with plenty of room for a book signing.  

Ethan made his way to the back entrance, warmly greeting the owner, Carol Jensen, and her twin daughters, Crystal and Cheryl. When he was starting out, Carol had sent him a personal letter asking him to come do a book signing here. Ethan still had that letter framed and hanging up in his office.  Even now that he was starting to become a household name, he insisted that Prairie Sky had to be the first stop on any book tour. Call it superstition, but it certainly worked for him. Each book had sold more than the last, and Ethan made sure that Prairie Sky always had extra signed copies to sell.

Carol was somewhere in her seventies, though nobody in Ashford seemed entirely sure exactly where. She was a widow, though she didn’t talk about her deceased husband much. Ethan had tried to get more, but Carol was a closed book. Her silver hair was gathered into an untidy bun that would likely come apart by lunchtime. She wore oversized cardigans no matter the season. 

Her two daughters, Crystal and Cheryl, were in their late 40’s. Ethan could never tell them apart. They looked alike and dressed alike. They sort of looked like what you would expect the twins from The Shining might look like if they had grown up. They were both tall, skinny, with long dark hair. They were not your conventional idea of good looking, but they were both married and had children, so Ethan certainly was not going to judge. 

Their Borador, Slade, raised his head from the floor to greet Ethan. He was the most chill dog that Ethan had ever encountered. Carol told everyone that it was Slade who really owned the shop, and she just paid the mortgage. Ethan gave him a pet behind the ears and when the Jensens weren’t looking, Ethan snuck him a treat. A wad of cheese he had smuggled in just that exact purpose. Satisfied that his tribute had been properly paid, Slade dropped his head back to the ground, his tail smacking the floor.

As Ethan looked around the shop, he saw there was a display of his books, arranged to look like a castle. There was a handpainted sign that said Castle Blackwood hanging on the display. Ethan circled it twice. “This is amazing! Come on, we need to get a picture of this!” Carol and her daughters came over for a selfie they could post on their social media. 

HarperCollins had sent over some promotional posters, most featuring his newest book, Where the Heather Blooms. 

Ethan flipped over a copy of the book sitting on the table and absently read the description on the dust jacket:

The Highlands are burning.

The fragile alliance of the United Clans hangs by a thread as English forces tighten their grip and old rivalries threaten to tear Scotland apart from within. Ewan McWhorter was born beneath a sky full of prophecy and destined for greatness, but destiny has never felt heavier than it does now.

Because his best friend is dead.

Lachlann Robertson, the druid apprentice known simply as Lock, fell beneath Ewan's blade at the Battle of Blackstone Ridge after dark magic twisted him into a weapon of the Usurper King. Though Ewan saved the Highlands, the victory cost him the brother he loved most.

Now whispers spread across the glens.

Whispers of heather blooming where no heather should grow.

Whispers that death may not be the end.

As ancient secrets buried beneath the Highlands begin to surface, Ewan and Isobel Campbell find themselves chasing a legend older than the clans themselves, a forbidden druid ritual capable of restoring a soul thought lost forever. To complete it, they must cross enemy territory, and venture into the shadowed realm of the Usurper King himself.

But some things refuse to stay buried. Because if Lock returns, he may not return as the man they remember.

Heartbreaking, hopeful, and filled with the sweeping romance and Highland adventure that made the series a worldwide phenomenon, Where the Heather Blooms is a story about friendship, sacrifice, and the impossible lengths we travel for the people we love.

For in the Highlands, legends are not born beneath crowns.

They bloom from the graves of those who refuse to be forgotten.

Advance Praise

"A breathtaking masterpiece that shattered me and then somehow stitched me back together again."

"Blackwood delivers his most emotionally devastating novel yet. Readers should clear their schedules-and stockpile tissues."

“I spent the final hundred pages alternating between crying, cheering, and yelling at the book. An extraordinary achievement."

"The friendship between Ewan and Lock remains one of the most compelling relationships in modern fantasy."

"I was furious at Ethan Blackwood after Shadows Over the Glen. I am furious at him again after this book. Five stars."

"Blackwood understands something many fantasy authors forget: saving the world means nothing if you cannot save the people who matter most."

Carol was standing next to him, “Is this one going to make me cry too?”

“One of the early reviews on Amazon said ‘I finished it at two in the morning and cried in my kitchen. The last time I cried was when my mother died eleven years ago.’ So I mean, it has that going for it.” 

Carol patted him on the arm, and he softly took her hand, “It’s really good to see you, Carol. Thank you for setting this up.”

“Why are you thanking me? All I have to do is hang up some signs and open the doors. Your name does the rest.”

“You know it’s a lot more than that. When I started out, I constantly felt like I was drowning. Your letters. Just knowing someone believed in me. I don’t say this lightly, Carol. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. And I don’t just mean Ashford.” He kissed her gently on the forehead. 

Carol shoved him away playfully, “I am not one of the characters in your books, Mister Blackwood! Save your charms for someone much closer to your age! I think you would have always found your way, but if you want to give me some credit for it, I am certainly not going to say no. I am not that modest, young man!”

Carol headed outside to greet the customers. Carol’s special talent was that she remembered people. Their names. Their children. What book they'd bought three years ago. What job they had retired from. She treated every person who walked through the door like their story mattered. She was who Ethan wanted to be when he grew up.

Ethan looked over the crowd, half-hoping to catch a glimpse of dark, messy hair or a pair of cynical eyes. But there was no sign of Sam from the night before.

He let out a quiet huff of laughter at himself, adjusting his collar. Did you really think you left that big of an impression on her? Now who’s the one failing at modesty?

Still, it was a nice, relaxed crowd. He scanned the room again, checking the lapels of the older women and the college kids in the back, and felt a wave of relief. He didn’t see a single "Justice for Lock!" button in the entire audience. No effigies, no pitchforks, no angry manifestos. This was exactly why Ethan loved starting his tours here. It was a safe haven.

At 11 AM on the dot, Crystal and Cheryl opened the doors, and the crowd started to filter in.

Ethan turned up the charm and started to greet people who came to the table. It quickly became overwhelming. He had forgotten what this was like without an assistant to help. Make small talk, ask the reader’s name, open the book to the title page, remember the name, ask them how to spell the name, then ask again because you weren’t paying attention the first time, sign your name, blow the signature to help it dry, smile for a selfie, make sure you give each person a moment, listen to their story. Move on to the next person even before you can process any of it, repeat the whole process over again. There was a pile of Post-It pads so he could get people’s names before signing, but that sat abandoned. He probably should have recruited Crystal and Cheryl to help him out, but he didn’t really even think about it at the time. This crowd was much bigger than he expected at such a small venue. 

Within minutes, he could feel the warning signs. He was finding it hard to breathe, he felt a tightening in his chest. There was too much noise. Too many people. Everyone wanted something from him. Some small piece of him. He started to clench his hands into fists. His hands were getting sweaty. It was hard to hold on to the pen as the next copy of Where the Heather Blooms was shoved at him. Who was this one for? Was her name Janet? Jane? Jake? No, that probably wasn’t right.

Ethan tried to force a smile, tried to sign the book, but his fingers felt entirely numb. The room tilted just a fraction, the edges of his vision beginning to blur into a soft, terrifying gray. He was alone, his schedule was a wreck, his body was short-circuiting, and if he couldn't even handle fifty polite people in a well-lit bookstore, the rest of this tour was going to absolutely eat him alive. 

“Is it getting hot in here?” he asked the next customer. Another little old lady, this one with pink highlights in her hair. She was saying something about her granddaughter. Ethan couldn’t quite process it. He nodded at her blankly, “I’m sure she’s a lovely girl.” The tilting room had started to go into a full spin now. Ethan felt like he was going to throw up, scream and run away. All at the same time.

Someone yelled his name. The voice was familiar. But he felt like it was coming from a million miles away. There was concern in the voice, but it was too little too late. Ethan’s heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. Was he having a heart attack? Cynically he thought, “That would definitely help with the sales of this book. HarperCollins would be thrilled, ‘Phony Scottish author collapses and dies in a castle made of books with his name on it’.” He laughed at that thought, and it came out sounding a bit hysterical.

The voice again, this time firm and right next to him, “Bard! Focus, we got this.” He looked up and saw the chestnut-haired critic from the gas station from last night. It was his grey ghost girl… She was wearing the same grey hoodie. Ethan forced himself to focus on that thought. She had been holding a bag of gummy worms, but it tumbled from her hand as she gently touched his shoulder. She bent down to look into his eyes. She clearly didn’t like what she saw. 

She turned to the crowd, “I am going to need everyone to take one giant step back right now. We have a bit of a medical emergency here. Don’t worry, I’m a trained professional.” She leaned down to check on him again, “You okay? You look like you are in a galaxy far, far, away.”

“Trained professional?” he managed to whisper, “I thought you worked in a gas station.”

“One of my roommates is a nurse, and I work the graveyard shift in a gas station in the middle of nowhere. I’ve had customers literally OD right in my restroom. Call it on the job training.” She gestured for Cheryl to get him some water quickly and started to take Ethan outside. 

Carol arrived on the scene and started to manage the crowd, announcing a five minute break.

Moments later, Ethan leaned against the dumpster behind the building trying to catch his breath, “Ghost Girl? What are you doing here?”

“Ghost Girl? My name is Allison. You invited me, remember. I had to bring you your gummy worms!

He looked at her with great sincerity, “I am about to throw up now. Sorry.” He opened the dumpster and started to puke up his hotel breakfast. 

Allison took a step back to stay out of the splash zone, but still close by since he looked like an even mild wind could knock him down, “So, what happened back there?”

Ethan hesitated before admitting, “Panic attack. I thought I had been getting better about them, but you saw what just happened.”

“Shouldn’t you have an assistant or something?”

Ethan wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, “I am sort of between assistants. Moira, my last one, ended up getting hired by my publisher. Any day now, she’ll probably soon be sending me inane notes about how I can broaden my brand. Whatever that means.”

Allison made a decision at that moment, “All right. How can I help?”

Ethan looked at her confused, “What do you mean?”

“You clearly need help, and I am free the rest of the afternoon. I certainly don’t wanna read your obituary tomorrow. Now, THAT would be a ridiculous ending.”  She brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes, “I’ve never worked a book signing before, but I am sure it’s not rocket science. Tell me what I can do to help you get through this.”

Ethan was feeling too miserable to put up much of a fight, “All right. I guess we’re doing this then. I can pay you for the afternoon.”

“Damn right you can. That Netflix deal has been all over the news the last few days! I heard they said Tom Hiddleston was interested in playing Lord Starling.”

Ethan leaned against the dumpster, almost as if she had smacked him. He seemed to fade some when she made that comment. His guts churned. He had thought he had made a connection with Sam/Allison last night, but like everyone else, she just wanted a piece of him.

Allison instantly froze, realizing she had gone too far. She softened, her voice dropping into something genuine. “Sorry. My mouth sometimes gets way ahead of my brain. It was just a dumb joke. Let me help you get through the rest of today. Please.”

She held out her hand in a tiny, tight fist. It took Ethan a moment to realize what she wanted. He reached out and gave her the most awkward, uncoordinated fist bump in human history.

“Sterling.”

She paused, looking back at him. “What?”

“His name is Sterling, not Starling," Ethan corrected quietly, the tension finally starting to leave his chest. "And yeah. Tom Hiddleston would be pretty awesome.”

Allison held the door open for him and led him back to his seat. The crowd cheered for him. Carol looked relieved. Even more so, when Allison parked herself at the table and started to play handler. Allison picked up the bag of gummy worms, shoved one in her mouth and handed the rest over to Ethan.

Allison immediately took charge, surprising herself with how easily she was able to spin this, “All right folks, break time is over. We have still got a lot of people to get through, and I am sure everyone wants to have their moment with the Ba…” She caught herself, “With Mister Blackwood. When I point to you, come to me. AND ONLY ME. Give me your books, tell me your name, I will write it on these Post-It’s and when Mister Blackwood is ready for you. AND ONLY WHEN MISTER BLACKWOOD IS READY FOR YOU, you step over to meet him. Pictures are allowed and encouraged, but remember you have a lot of people waiting behind you, so be mindful of all of our time. The rules are simple, right? If anyone breaks them, you are going to the back of the line.” She stared straight forward at the crowd, not giving Ethan any opportunity to contradict her. A small smile crossed his face, followed quickly by the start of a crazy idea. 

Allison picked up the stack of Post-It’s on the table, twirled the marker like she was a gunslinger showing off and got ready to kick ass and take names. Literally. Well the taking names part. She hoped she wouldn’t have to kick anyone’s ass. But if she did, she was ready for that too.

With Allison taking charge, everything started to move more smoothly. There were some hiccups to start with. Like Ethan freaking out because he couldn’t find his favorite silver marker. Only to realize it he was holding it in his hand. 

Then there was the Scotsman.

A man approached the table in a full kilt and a thick accent, “Aye laddy! Yer books are beautiful. I always feel like they are telling my story. What part of Scotland did you grow up?”

Ethan got this a lot and never quite knew how to answer. This time Allison jumped in for him, “Ohio.”

The Scotsman blinked at her, “What?”

“He’s from the Ohio part of Scotland.”

Ethan looked at Allison, wondering if he had made a big mistake here. But the Scotsman boomed a laugh, “Well, laddy, if you aren’t really from Scotsland, you certainly have fooled me. I am declaring you an honorary Scotsman!” He practically picked up Ethan with the massive bearhug he gave him.

After that, the rest of the day went smoothly. Ethan and Allison quickly had a rhythm going. When Ethan started to feel overwhelmed, Allison would slow the line down, taking more time to talk to the customers as they came up, giving Ethan a chance to catch a breather. Since she was from town, most of them already knew her, so she was able to chat them up easily enough. But she was so natural at this, Ethan started to suspect that she might be pretty good at this anywhere, not just in a small bookshop in Ashford. That crazy idea was starting to grow.

The crowd quickly started to dwindle, but Ethan seemed to genuinely be enjoying himself by the end of it, spending more time with each remaining customer.

Allison caught Ethan leaning across the table toward a woman who looked to be a very spunky eighty-five. His voice had dropped into a conspiratorial whisper. "...and that's why," he concluded gravely, "one should never attempt simultaneous declarations of love and removal of a corset."

The older woman gasped, letting out a delighted, papery giggle that echoed in the quiet shop, before slapping a folded piece of paper onto the table and sliding it toward him.

She loudly claimed the phone number was for her granddaughter, but watching her wink at him, Allison was pretty sure she was trying to rob the cradle.

She glanced at Ethan, who didn't miss a beat. He picked up the paper, gave it a suave press to his lips, and offered the lady a theatrical, hand-over-heart bow.

Or maybe he's trying to rob the grave? Allison thought, quickly putting her hand over her mouth to stop from laughing out loud.

Over in the corner, Cheryl watched Ethan and Allison. She leaned over to Carol and whispered, “Are they together?”

Carol shook her head, “I don’t think so. That is Ally from the gas station. You went to school with her aunt.”

Crystal said, “They should be together.”

Carol chuckled at that, “Maybe. They do make a cute couple. But I don’t think it will happen. Not yet anyway."

"How can you tell?"

"Because they're still pretending."

There were still a handful of stragglers in the store, but it seemed like everything was winding down. Ethan asked, “Is that everyone?”

Carol responded, “Looks like it. Thank you, Ally. You really saved the day.”

Allison got up and stretched, “I just came to bring Mister Blackwood’s gummy worms. He special ordered them. I am heading home to sleep. You going to be okay?”

Ethan nodded, “Thanks to you, yes.” 

Carol took fifty dollars out of the register and pressed it into Allison's hand.

“Carol, you don't have to do that,” Allison said. Internally, her brain was trying to physically hijack her arm to grab the cash. Do not play polite right now, Allison. You have negative four dollars in your checking account, and your landlord doesn't accept good manners for rent. 

"Nonsense. You worked hard today; you more than earned it. Besides, Ethan will reimburse me. And frankly, if we waited for him to figure out Venmo, we'd both be dead of old age.”

There was still one last copy of Where the Heather Blooms sitting on the counter. Allison asked, “Carol, would you mind ringing that one up for me?”

Carol and Ethan both said, “Take it! No charge!” at the same time. 

Allison said, “Okay, that was just weird. But thanks.” 

Ethan was about to ask her if she wanted him to sign it, but she was already out the door.

Cheryl chimed in, “Aren’t you going to go after her?”

Ethan looked confused, “Why would I do that?”

Carol shook her head and said to her daughters, “I told you.”