2019-08-14 - The Other Side of the Family Tree

Elias is working today, and so he is seated behind the counter at the front of the shop in a rolling office chair, his booted feet up on the counter itself. He has a laptop open on his lap and is tapping away as his head bobs a little to whatever music happens to be playing at the moment.

The sudden drizzle and the lack of an umbrella are what bring Isabella Reede through the threshold of Likely Stories, instantly appreciative of the business' name before ducking inside its cool and dry confines. She manages to leave the outside world with just a few drops of rain evident on the dove-gray blazer she wears, leaving darker spots on the shoulders and a sprinkle down her back. Most of the growing deluge is in her hair, tendrils of dark hair clinging to the sides of her sunkissed mien, skin dewy from the inclement weather outside.

Independent bookstores such as the one she is in never fail to draw her attention regardless of the time of day; green eyes flecked with gold roam over the narrow, labyrinthine passages between the shelves, the scent of paper, ink and age peppering the air. Ever a slave to her senses, the scholar-at-large takes a deep, appreciative breath, adjusting the strap of her satchel as she ventures further within, boots cutting over the floor in a quick clip; her strides are purposeful, businesslike - she may have had to move back to a sleepy town, but the big cities that she has left behind leave their mark upon her in other ways, unapologetic in the way she maintains her usual rapid-fire pace in spite of her more casual and laidback surroundings. It has never been her nature to be idle, she almost always has to be doing something.

Her chosen guide for the afternoon's journey is Elias, if not just because he is the only person she sees and he seems to be an employee. She gravitates to that direction, a ready, but easy smile on her features. She's young, late twenties, at the very most, and dressed like any graduate student anywhere in a loose cotton top under her blazer, fitted designer jeans and boots. Long hair is pulled up in its usual artful disarray, secured by a mother-of-pearl clip. A moonstone pendant gleams close to her heart, its adularescence capturing the light, and fragmenting it into rainbow motes of color across the darker fabric of her blouse.

Likely Stories has been a staple of the town since the downtown area was built, run by generations of Webers. Elias is only the latest in the Weber line to manage the store. He raises his eyes from his laptop screen when the door opens, glancing at Isabella as she steps inside and offering a smile before his eyes dip downward once more, finishing off whatever it was that he was writing before saving and closing the laptop, setting it aside. "Afternoon," he offers in greeting. He's got a pair of boots laced halfway up his calves over jeans that do nothing to hide how lean he is. A navy blue t-shirt is worn beneath a white button down, left unbuttoned over it. His hair is loose in lazy waves that hang to his collar, a little frizzy perhaps from the humidity outside. He tucks a few strands behind one ear. "Anything I can help you with?"

Likely Stories has been here for as long as she can remember, a regular patron from when she was a child to the year she had inexplicably packed up and left Gray Harbor, and stayed away for over a decade. Nostalgia mirrors itself easily on Isabella's expressive face as images fill her mind, memories colored in sepia - thoughts of herself in various stages of her life, moving back and forth these well-loved aisles, feet scurrying upwards to the 'Spooky' section during middle school. Ghosts, in the end, but unlike others that so pervade Gray Harbor's bloody history, they are good ones.

Elias' greeting has her slipping her fingers into her satchel, rummaging through it. "Yes. I actually went by the library just now to see if they have certain source materials I need for some research," she tells him, furrowing her brows as she attempts to look for the small piece of paper she had been scribbling on. She gives up, eventually, carefully situating her burden so she could open the top flap and sort through it. The unmistakable hard edge of a small laptop computer is visible within, as well as a few folders of carefully catalogued documents, and a piece of photo-paper or two. "Unfortunately, they didn't have all of what I need and I was wondering if they can be special ordered through here? Aha! Found it." She draws out a bright pink post-it and hands it to him.

The list contains historical texts, and all with the prevailing theme of various documented voyages - ships from the 1800s to the turn of the century and their journeys, though there is one that stands out from the rest, if not just because it clearly doesn't belong with the others: Ghost Stories from the Pacific Northwest, by M.R. MacDonald.

There's another appreciative glance. "I haven't been here in years," she says conversationally as she looks around. "It hasn't changed a bit. I heard from a friend of mine it still belongs to the Webers after all this time."

Elias studies Isabella as she looks out at the shop, and after a few moments, he recognizes her, and that smile ticks up a little bit. They were only a year apart in high school, he a year behind her, but he remembers her from his time as a kid, hanging about while his mother worked in the shop before he was old enough to do so. He doesn't say anything, though, not for the moment, anyway. She has businss, and he watches as she rummages around for the bit of paper. When she produces the slip, he takes the post-it and scans over it saying, "Yeah, we can special order things. That's no problem. Let me take a look here."

He gets up from where he was sitting, putting his feet on the ground, and goes over to the store terminal instead of his personal laptop and pulls up a screen, searching for the titles that she presented to him. He grins a little at the ghost stories book and says, "I think this one actually may be in stock. I'll check after I pull up the others." He taps the name of that book, then goes about pulling up the historical texts.

His lips tick up in amusement, "Yeah? I heard that, too." That she doesn't recognize him doesn't surprise him at all. "What's your favorite section?"

Ten years and change is a very long time. People grow up and move on, but some have clearly stayed.

It must be the way Elias smiles that has Isabella inclining her head at him, and while her smile remains, there's a hint of puzzlement there. But on closer inspection, lips part slowly in faint astonishment because there is something familiar about the young(er) man before her, but is momentarily unable to place him - the physical strain over the last few weeks has been immeasurable, and she is still presently recovering from a major surgery in spite of her miraculous recovery time. Those who work at Addington Memorial are either demons or saints.

To find out that one of the texts in her list might actually be available brightens her expression. "Really? Great! In retrospect, I probably should have checked the Spooky section first. It was what my brother and I called it when we were growing up here." Green-gold eyes wander up to those stairs winding upwards to the top landing, lips twisting ruefully. "History, definitely, even when I was a child. But I read everything - I was a big fan of the occult stuff in middle school because it was so different from what I usually read, but I didn't really develop any genuine academic interest in the subject. I just wondered whether being able to cast magic was actually possible."

Studying his profile for a moment, she groans. "Alright, I'm sorry. I've been tired the last few days and I'm not as sharp as I usually am, but I could swear I know you."

Ten years is a long time, but Elias has an impressive memory and an eye for detail. He can see that puzzlement, but he doesn't say anything at first, looking back toward the screen and pulling up the titles. "Alright, I've got all of these. They're going to take probably two or three days to get here." He gives her the total, and then says, "If you want me to put in the order I can, and then I can give you a call, text, or email when they arrive to come pick them up." His eyes flicker up to the loft area with its expansive occult section when she mentions it. "It was my favorite section, because I could crash on the couch when we weren't busy and read."

The groan draws his gaze back down toward her and he chuckles, "We went to school together, but you were a class ahead of me. Elias Weber. Don't worry, I really wouldn't have expected you to remember. It's been a long, long time."

"That would be great," Isabella says, reaching into her satchel to produce a wallet, and take out her credit card to hand it to him. "Three days isn't all that long, and if you can toss me a text when they've arrived, that would be wonderful, too. Here.." Another moment of rifling through the folds of her wallet before she hands the card she finds to Elias, bearing the famous University of Oxford logo as well as her e-mail address and international mobile number:

ISABELLA B. REEDE
SENIOR RESEARCH ASSISTANT
SCHOOL OF ARCHAEOLOGY

It's his identification, in the end, that causes those green-gold eyes to widen, her mind suddenly rocketing back to those years; a young man behind the counter with his riot of ebony curls and ready smile. "Elias?!" she says, recognition flaring to life under the guise of a brilliant smile. "Oh my god! Holy shit...I mean...look at you! Have you always been this tall?! Wow, I can't believe it, I....it's been ages. How have you been?!"

"Yeah, fortunately they're at the distributor in Seattle, so they'll come in the next shipment that we get from them," Elias explains why the delivery should be pretty quick. He takes the card and runs it, handing it back to her. He puts in her information in and says "Archaeology, huh? That's awesome. Gone all Indiana Reede on us?" A sidelong grin is shot in her direction as he finishes putting everything in and hands her a receipt with the order number and the ETA circled on it. He does seem genuinely surprised when she does recognize him after all. "God, I hope not.. my poor mother," Elias jokes when she asks if he'd always been that tall. He looks himself up and down and then back to her, taking a little bow with a flourish. He is in fact taller, though not much less skinny than he was before. At least there is some small bit of lean muscle on him now. "I've been good, you know, busy with the shop, the town, the usual shenanigans. What about you? Off raiding tombs Lara Croft style?"

She takes her credit card back, stows it in her wallet. The quips earn him one of her unfettered laughs, leaning against the counter and folding her arms on it, finding, somehow, a better reason now to stay a little longer. For all intents and purposes, Isabella's jaunt here was going to be a quick trip, but with such a familiar face before her, she isn't about to leave without playing a little catch up. It is a good diversion away from very recent and dangerous chaos.

"I wish I could tell you my life's a full on action movie," Isabella tells him ruefully. "But I think I'll elect not to ruin it for you." Mischief plays over the line of her mouth. "If I got into detail as to how boring my first few years in the field were, you'd probably cry. Hell, I almost cried, and you know even back then I wasn't much of a crier. All that scrabbling around in the dirt, all the cataloguing. It got significantly better when I decided on my specialty." She winks at him. "I raid underwater tombs, so it's about a hundred times more dangerous, especially if you don't know what you're doing down there."

Another glance at the interior of the bookstore. "I'm glad it hasn't changed," she murmurs, tracing her finger over the grain of the counter's wood. "This was always one of my favorite places in town."

Looking up, she inclines her head to him a little bit. "Oh, hey. You know what I found out recently? We might be very distantly related."

"Well, I'm going to choose to believe that you're out there swiping gold statues and dodging arrow traps," Elias says, "Whether that's true or not." Then he pauses when she explains taht she raids underwater tombs and he says, "Shark traps," modifying his earlier decision, and giving her an amused smile. He leans one hip against the counter comfortably, arms folded lightly in front of him. He nods a bit when she says she's glad it hasn't changed, looking around at the space. "Yeah, it's home, in a way, as much as the house is. It would be weird if it changed too much." The revelation that they might be related, however, earns an arched eyebrow, "Seriously?"

"Not gonna lie," Isabella says with a laugh. "I'm still hoping to do the golden statue-sandbag switch at some point during my career. Though there was an incident in Morocco three years ago where I finally got to say the 'It belongs in a museum' line." Fingers drum on the counter, eyes lifting to meet Elias' own, the full brunt of her mischief plain to see.

The arched eyebrow has her exhaling a breath, rolling her head back. "Well, you know how it is in small towns, especially with the older families. Everyone just marries everyone else." A faint wrinkle of her nose there, before her gaze lands on Elias again. "In this case, though, Dorothy Weber married my great-great-great grandfather." She smiles faintly at him, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. "I'm an archaeologist, so I run into historical questions a lot - even the ones that touch on my family tree. I'm not quite sure where Dorothy fits in your own, though."

"Nice," Elias says with a broad grin when she mentions the museum line, his own dark eyes sparkling with amusement. "What's the point of having a job like that if you can't use all the lines? There aren't a lot of good bookstore lines." He nods then, conceding the point that it's probably likely that all the old families are related here and there down the line. "Yeah, I suppose that makes sense." He makes a mental note, then, and says "I'll have to see if I can figure that out. Just because I'm idly curious. So I guess we're sort of distant cousins. That's kind of cool."

"I mean, in retrospect, it was a pretty harrowing situation, but hell, if I was going to die, I wasn't about to let that chance pass me by," Isabella says, as ever full of brash and reckless (also sometimes, misplaced) bravado, letting loose a bright, unfettered laugh, fingers flying to her ribcage as she bites back a wince; she would never stop herself from being mirthsome, if she can help it, but healing flesh wounds render the prospect difficult, sometimes.

But when Elias professes his curiosity, her laughter fades. "Well, let me know, then, cuz," she tells him, a hint of teasing there. "Full disclosure, though?" She looks over her shoulder to make sure they're still alone before she continues. "She married a preacher called Lindon Baxter. He was responsible for some witch burnings in Gray Harbor back in the 1880's. Grim, right?"

Elias is grinning at that, shaking hsi head when she winces, and his expression shifts over to concern. "Hey, you need to sit down or something?" He nods over to one of the comfortable overstuffed chairs not far from the entrance where folks sometimes sit to flip through their purchases.

His curiosity turns into something a little more perplexed. "That's weird, considering that our family kind of fled Salem due to the witch trials there, and all the rumors about us being witches. Unless she was super pissed at the family -- marrying a witch burner seems uh.. a little counterproductive." But what puzzles him even more is, "Burnings as late as the 1800s? I thought that was back in the 1600s and 1700s. Shit, even I didn't know were there any that recent around here." But then, he's not the historian.

"Oh god, no. No, I don't need any more sitting down for now," Isabella says, unleashing an exaggerated groan. "I just got out of the hospital and I'm enjoying having my legs under me again. Besides, this way I can look directly at your face. " And she makes a show of folding her arms on the counter, widening her eyes as much as she can, and leaning forward so she can stare at his face. Only for a second or two, however, before she leans back and laughs. "I can't believe how grown up you look now! So since we're distant cousins, does that mean I can pinch your cheek every time I say that?" She actually looks a little hopeful when she says that, having absolutely no qualms teasing someone she is a decade estranged from. With the green-eyed archaeologist, no one is safe.

As Elias makes some very astute observations, there's a quick nod - indicative that the scholar had the same questions about the date of the supposed witch trial, but hadn't had much room to explore it. With an insider in front of her now, however, she's able to commiserate. "I didn't know that about your family," she confesses. "Just that they've been a fixture around Gray Harbor for almost since the city's founding. I didn't know about the Salem connection." She furrows her brows. "Which would definitely make it strange, unless Dorothy had no idea about her own family history? She was two centuries removed from what happened in the Northeast, though if the current generations of Webers are familiar with that piece of your history, I find it hard to believe that she wouldn't know. So why participate in a witch burning?"

She falls silent, then lifts her eyes to meet Elias's own.

"...unless it wasn't a witch burning." The possibility blossoms in the back of her head like a rose. There's another glance up the 'Spooky' section of the bookstore. "I don't suppose you've read anything about potential human sacrifices happening in Gray Harbor through its history?"

"Okay creeper," Elias says when she widens her eyes and leans in to /stare/ at his face, laughing. "Distant cousins, not my distant grandmother. No cheek pinching for you!" He takes a step back, as though to put some distance between him and the potential pinchings. He's still laughing, though. "Man, I don't think I even had my license yet the last time I saw you, now that I think about it." He would have been just about sixteen at the time.

"Oh yeah," he says, "When the witch trials were going on in Salem, they started moving west, because we've always had ties to the occult and witchcraft. Some of it's rumor, some if it's absolutely true. I mean, not that we turned people into toads and shit like that, but that there were plenty of pagans among us." He nods toward the upstairs occult section. "It's not there by accident. We pretty much embrace the rumors, but when we first got here? Yeah, legit laid low a bit because the fear was real." He nods then and says, "Doesn't seem possible for her not to know though, since the rumors would have been all over here, too. She'd have had to have grown up under a rock not to have some idea. And yeah, I mean, everyone in the family knows. It's like, a point of pride at this point. Even those of us who aren't particularly witchy play it up at this point." Slowly, he shakes his head and says "Who knows why people do the things that they do? Maybe her husband had something on her? Maybe she was a victim too somehow? Couldn't tell you." Though the mention of human sacrifices has his eyes widening slightly, "Uh... no? And before you ask, that wasn't us.." At least, he sure hopes not.

Okay, creeper.

Isabella laughs; it feels good to do so, but it hurts, her fingers pressing against her ribcage as she leans away from the counter. "A check off my bucket list," she jests, making a tick in the air with her index. "To be called that at least once in my life. Isabella 'Creeper' Reede. No, Doctor Isabella B. 'Creeper' Reede, by the next year anyway. You've not disappointed me yet since reacquainting myself with you, distant cousin. And yeah! You were squarely in Permit Town, if I remember correctly. God, I just...oh my god, I can't believe this is actually you, now. No longer a squirt." The wicked curve of her smile flashes at him there. "And running his own business. And presumably moved out of Permit Town. You should have seen my reaction when I ran into Byron Thorne again, the first thing I told him was that he looks way too expensive, now."

The small snapshot her newly-discovered relation provides her about Weber history has her crossing her arms in thought, listening - her earlier levity fades and the change in her is palpable, green-gold eyes reclaiming that intense and relentless scrutiny as she observes him. It isn't just his words, but his expressions, the way he details his family history - and for someone who isn't a genealogist, he seems extremely well informed about his tree.

Elias might not have an idea now, but... "Yeah, there's a lot we don't know." She inclines her head at him. "But since it's an interesting puzzle, I was wondering - if you do look into it, could you let me know, too? Why Dorothy Weber, scion of a family who's well known to have ties with witchcraft and the occult, would marry Preacher Lindon Baxter, who may have had a hand at some inexplicably late, beyond-the-times witchburnings?"

Elias can't help but laugh when he makes her laugh, though he does wince a little sympathetically when he sees that it hurts at the same time. "Doctor Isabella B. Creeper Reede, First of her name, Digger of Dirt, Raider of Underwater Tombs," he intones with mock-seriousness. "Wait, what's the B stand for?" Because this is important information. He smirks a bit and says, "Yeah, I managed to actually get a license in the past decade." Though when she mentions Byron he laughs, "Too expensive, and hot as hell. Escaping town was good for him."

The Webers are kind of an odd family, but they're also a tightly knit family who seems to have embraced their place as weirdos with not just acceptance but enthusiasm, perhaps even relish. Family stories are passed on to all the kids from any early age. And Elias is a curious sort, so he likes knowing things about his people. "I mean, if I can find anything on it, I'll let you know, for sure. It's definitely something I will look into some more. There's a bunch of family history stuff at the house, and there's a couple of things I already have lined up to research. So... uh.. human sacrifices? Are you sure that was an actual thing?"

"Oh, god. You didn't tell him that, did you?" Isabella groans; her face is emphatic in the belief that this is quite possibly one of the worst outcomes in the history of the town, but that would be understandable also - Elias went to the same high school, and the friendly rivalry between Byron Thorne and Isabella Reede throughout those years has been a source of entertainment for the entire student body until the young woman suddenly, and inexplicably, packed up and left to stay with her aunt in New Orleans after her twin brother disappeared. "Please tell him you didn't tell him that. And if you haven't told him that, please never tell him that, and if you intend to, I'm definitely disowning you. Cut off from the family fortune, young man!" She points a finger at him. "For all I know, I might discover a hoard of long lost Incan gold, next, don't squander this opportunity!"

With his promise about his own research secured, she smiles. "Thanks, Elias. The more we know, the better off we're going to be, I think. As for the human sacrifices..." She pauses. "Honestly that's why I want to know more about Dorothy Weber, and why she would marry someone who your family would probably make vociferous protests over, if he was a preacher and with very specific inclinations towards burning crosses with women trussed on them. If we knew that, maybe we'd be able to determine for sure just what the hell that entire production was for." She sighs. "There was a photograph, of the burning. I'll see if I can get you a copy, if that will help. I mean, it doesn't really show women in the stakes, but the preparation before it presumably happened. So yeah, when you can. You have my number. Please? It's important."

She checks her phone before she exhales. "I better get going," she murmurs. "I need to get back to work." She winks at Elias, wiggling her fingers. "You be good, and keep in touch. I'll be back soon, if not just to grab the books."

After a few steps towards the door, she pauses, and looks back over her shoulder at Elias.

"The B stands for Baxter," she says, watching him for a few heartbeats. And then, her smile returns, faintly. "We'll talk about it more later, okay?"

And with that, she heads out into the rain.

"What, that he's hot?" Elias asks, laughing. "No. I've never had the occasion to talk to Byron Thorne -- not in high school, and not after. That doesn't mean I can't appreciate him. Does it help if I tell you that you're hot, too? Or is that creepy on account of us being cousins now?" He considers then shrugs his shoulders, laughing. "Fine, should I ever end up talking to the guy, I won't tell him. For the sake of the Incan gold, of course."

The more information that comes out on this preacher guy, the more Elias looks both puzzled and intrigued. He's definitely going to have to look into it more. "Yeah, get me a copy. There may be some information I can gather. Whatever you've got, I'll be happy to help research." He nods and says, "I'll give you a call," whens he goes to move off. He wanders back to his chair, picking up his laptop. When she turns back, he raises a brow and then says, "Curiouser and Curiouser," giving her a wink before she disappears into the rain.