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            Ahead he spied the Dragon Inn, a flagship of sorts in the town. His breath hitched after being away for so long. Damien still marveled at the magnificence of the place. It stood three stories tall, majestic in appearance and painted a blue that seemed to change colors if you looked at it just a certain way. What no one knew was that the Dracon family was the original owners who guarded their shape shifting abilities secret with a fervor that would have given Fort Knox a run for its money.
 

Family members didn’t grow into their powers until they hit twenty years of age and they all seemed to morph into different entities. Damien sighed at the way his grandfather ran the family right up to his death two years before.  His grandfather believed that the family was supposed to be quiet, not make waves, and follow any order the patriarch gave, regardless of who got hurt. Damien felt the muscles bunch tighter under his shirt as anger and tension built. It was enough to cause him to curse out loud at the man responsible for his “banishment” to Europe and the heartache that was a constant companion the last few years.
 

            Damien tried to relax as he finished driving up the long and winding driveway, which seemed to go on forever. The inn, that was also the family home and business, was quiet. Normally it was a bustling place, according to his twin brother, Rodrick, and the town was growing in leaps and bounds. Had the family grown with Devon Falls or would they fade away? It was something to ponder now that his grandfather was no longer around to cause trouble. The heat shimmered on the blacktop driveway as he got closer to the Inn . Sweat dripped down his neck and rolled down his back. He couldn’t wait to grab a cool drink after the way this scorcher of a heat wave kept beating at him.
 

            Damien stopped the Corvette next to his brother’s Harley, a bike that exemplified his free spirit and rough edges as well as the power that lurked under his skin. Shaking his head, smiling at the way the bike seemed to exude power as he got out of the car; Damien wondered what awaited him in Devon Falls .
As always, his thoughts strayed to the one woman who he was determined to be with, so he could show her the sweetness of love again. The question that kept rounding in his head — would Alicia let him talk to her or would she slam the door in his face? It made him aware that he wasn’t the only one that got hurt here. Alicia was hurt as well and, from what he could ferret it out of his family; she picked herself up and kept herself closed to others. Her family had circled around her and made him very leery to make waves by pushing her to talk things out.
 

             Walking to the front of the inn, Damien took stock of the way the Dragon Inn pulsed with a power that only immortals or shape shifters felt in their veins. It was old, imposing, and full of secrets waiting to be released into the unsuspecting town, unless it was managed right. Opening the door, Damien walked into the front hall and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the Inn after the bright sunshine outside. The hallway was nice and cool, a welcome escape from the relentless heat that gripped the town. Damien wiped the sweat that beaded on his face and neck. He smiled slightly when he spied his mother moving with the inert grace he remembered from his youth.
 

Suddenly, she noticed Damien lounging in the doorway and launched into a run, laughing as he caught her up in his arms.  ”Welcome home, my son,” Sarah Dracon whispered in his ear. “It is about time you stopped running from your destiny and your pain.”

Cole read the first few paragraphs of the sea disaster story with its photograph of one of the doomed ships on her beam-ends moments before plunging to the bottom of the ocean, and another of a rescued seaman, round eyed with shock. 

            He thought it not unlike his own story with two lives colliding, one being sent to the murky depths of consciousness, the other left in startled awareness that some kind of life must go on.  He had long since learned to handle such madness with a semblance of sanity.  Cole was the only one to suspect the truth of it, that he was his father’s son and probably insane beyond redemption. 

            He found a set of car keys next to the coffee pot.  At least he had a car, a Ford this time.  He never questioned whether it was stolen, or paid for, or bought on time.  Some dab of self-preservation must remain in the dark cavern of his lost time to spare him that.  The purchases made, decisions rendered, and actions taken during the blanks in his memory had always been easily reversible, at least any that Cole had found out about.  Sometimes he suspected that the prospect of a long-term commitment was what returned him to himself.  Cole had learned to be a master of escape and extrication. 

            He lifted the curtain and scanned the parking lot to see how difficult his search for the car would be.  The worn condition of the keys and his obvious and chronic state of financial distress hinted that the Ford would be old.  Spying but two likely prospects in the lot, he shouldered his bags with relief and made his way to the dark green ‘85 coupe parked closest to his own door. 

            Success.  The keys fit and he opened the trunk and loaded his belongings.  He would not be returning here.  Whatever boss expected him to report for work tomorrow morning would be disappointed.  Whatever utility bills he had accumulated would go unpaid.  Whatever human connections he had made were just as well severed.  When traveling down the road to insanity, one learned to travel light.

            The first stop had to be a service station.  With the tank filled and the oil, air, and water checked, Cole studied the road map the gap-toothed attendant had provided him.  He was in Cleveland, a city he had never visited before to his conscious knowledge.  

            “Going on a trip, Nick?”  The attendant asked as he counted out his change. 

            It took a moment for Cole to respond to the name.  He was not used to being called that anymore.  “Huh?  Oh, yeah.  Ann Arbor,” he lied.  It was close enough.  “Got any advice on the fastest route?”

            “Sure.  My cousin lives there.  Used to go up there all the time and fish with him.  Gimme that map.”  Cole handed him the map and his pencil, and the attendant sketched out the roads for him.  “Sure would be nice to be able to go fishing right about now.  Is that what you’re up to?”

            “Naw, family business, I’m afraid.  Not a vacation.”  It was another talent necessary to the pretense of sanity—to be able to fake familiarity with total strangers who knew you on a first name basis—a first name that wasn’t really yours.