Keeper of the Lost Flame by Rose M. Delorane

The Legend of Little Square Book 2

Lit Square has gotten caught up in the paranormal, arcane magic, and supernatural trouble – and still hasn't surrendered. Tough, seasoned, yet still sweet and unassuming, he is unafraid to take what he wants. No longer is he the same awkward boy who left behind his home, family, and the girl he loved, just to search for his forgotten bloodline.

Not quite seventeen, he's undeniably handsome despite the deep scars no one sees. Yet, he has no idea the effect he has on others. Especially on Greta, the girl who runs the iconic Merry's Tavern and Inn within the small mountain town of Mountainview.

When Lit travels there on the trail of an ancient artifact, he uncovers secrets kept silent for generations. The picturesque town has existed under a supernatural threat so malevolent that it forces residents to lock their doors by nightfall. Dark forces own the streets after sunset, and the boarded Cemetery of Eternal Sorrow guards secrets the living fear to speak.
There, he makes the shocking discovery that his heritage connects him to something vindictive. Something that has waited generations for his arrival.

Between his relationship with Greta pulling him in all directions and Mountainview’s paranormal problems, Lit has his hands full.

Excerpt from Keeper of the Lost Flame © Copyright 2025 Rose M. Delorane

Following the pressman's direction, Lit arrived at a building of weathered stone and aged timber set between a tailor shop and a haberdashery. Above the door, a green faded sign spelled out ‘Merry's Tavern and Inn' in chipped white letters.

Lit stepped inside the spacious front common room of Merry's and was immediately enveloped by its warmth. An alcove to the right was dominated by a stone fireplace that rose from floor to ceiling. Bright orange flames crackled over thick timber logs, filling the room with heat and flickering light. Overstuffed chairs and well-worn couches clustered near the fireplace, with thick rugs scattered across the wide plank floor.

As he moved deeper into the room, he detected the aroma of something savory cooking. To the left, a rounded, ornate wooden doorway led into another room, where the clatter of dishes and scrape of wooden chairs suggested a dining area.

Merry's Tavern and Inn was cozy and charming, though its age was apparent in the scuffed pine floorboards and blistered wooden beams.

At the center of the room, a raised, polished oak desk served as the counter. Behind it, a petite blonde girl, in her late teens, hummed softly as she leaned over a heavy red leather book. She rested one elbow on the desk, her chin propped in her hand, while she flipped through its pages with the other. Built into the wall behind her was a panel of small slots holding cards, letters, and brass keys, which hung from hooks.

Even from a distance, Lit was struck by how pretty she was.

Her complexion was creamy, her cheeks a pale pink, and her long black lashes framed eyes that hovered between blue and green. She wore a dress of golden orange with a fitted bodice and crisp white bell sleeves, more a mountain costume than a dress. On her chest, hidden behind her hair was a small brass name tag that read ‘Greta'.

Stepping further into the room, the floor creaked under his foot and drew her attention.

Greta stopped humming and straightened, her fixed smile fading as she took in Lit's disheveled appearance. One small hand rose to her throat.

Quickly masking her unease, she replaced it with a practiced smile. “Good day! Welcome to Merry's Tavern and Inn,' she said in a forced,

friendly tone. “Would you be needing a room, or are you here for a meal? Lit approached the counter, then placed his gear down by his feet.

He returned Greta's strained smile with one of quiet appreciation, not only for her striking appearance but also for her warm and friendly manner. “Yes, I'd like a room if you have one.” Chuckling, he added, “…As well as whatever is cooking. It smells delicious.”

Greta smiled weakly and replied, “Of course, of course.” She lowered her eyes and flipped through the leather book that was open on the counter. Now and then, she glanced up as she ran her finger down the page.

Lit shifted awkwardly, growing uncomfortable as she leafed through the book. Her smile didn't hide her questioning gaze, her eyes lingering on his torn clothing, dirt-streaked boots, and bruised face.

The question of his scruffy appearance hung in the air. Not wanting to mention his encounter with the shapeshifters, he thought of an excuse. Faking a casual tone, he said, “Yeah, I could use a hot bath and a good night's rest. I was out clearing trees off the road that had been

knocked down from the storm.” He looked down at his clothes and added, “It was hard work. Messy work, too.”

Lowering his head for a moment, he let out a long sigh, then lifted his eyes to see how the story was landing with the girl.

Greta stood motionless with her hands clasped over the leatherbound book. She gave him her full attention, her eyes widening with understanding.

Satisfied that she seemed to believe him, Lit pressed on, embellishing the story as he went along. “Good thing I'm pretty strong, or I could have gotten buried underneath all those trees.”, he sighed. “I usually look a lot better than this. But I fell and hit my head and got punched in the face a few times.”

He quickly corrected himself. “Uh, I mean, hit in the face by branches and stuff. Even tore my clothes.” Clenching his jaw, he nodded and drew in a breath. The memory of what actually happened haunted him and was not an embellishment.

Greta's brow knit, and she leaned a little closer over the desk. “But… why would you do that?” she asked softly. “Why risk yourself just to move trees?”

Lit thought fast. “Oh, uh… yeah, well. I needed the money,” he said, hoping it sounded like a reasonable excuse for doing a job that left him in this condition.

“Understanding flashed in Greta's eyes, and she clasped her hands on the desk. “Oh! I see.” A look of sympathy softened her features. “That's commendable. There is absolutely nothing wrong with needing to work hard, and nothing to be ashamed of in rolling up your sleeves and getting a little dirty.”

Lit fidgeted with the collar of his sweatshirt and offered an embarrassed smile. He was glad she was no longer staring at him as if he had just escaped from a chain gang or something

worse. However, her sympathy was starting to make him feel uncomfortable, since his story had been mostly a pretense. “Um, yes, so, anyway. If you have a room, I won't be in Mountainview for longer than a day or two, so it doesn't need to be fancy.”

Before Lit could finish, Greta's clasped hands flew to her chest. “Of course!” she exclaimed, her smile widening. She reached for the ledger. “We've always got room for someone in need. Certainly!” She ran her finger down one of the pages in the ledger. “No one is ever turned away at Merry's, no matter their circumstance.”

“Thank you.” What does she mean by circumstances, he wondered, then shrugged it off.

Looking up with a smile, she said, “We have a nice room facing Snowcap Lane. I'm sure it will suit you just fine.” She turned, took a brass key from the rack, and set it on the counter. “It's just been prepared and is ready.”

She mentioned the cost of the room and looked away awkwardly. “The first night is usually paid in advance, but don't worry if you can't,” she said with a weak smile.

“That sounds fine, I can pay both days in advance,” Lit said. He lifted his backpack from the floor, then searched it for his coin pouch.

Greta looked up at him from beneath her lashes.

Though bruised and battered, there was no denying he was goodlooking. Long lashes framed his dark eyes, and once the swelling subsided, his nose would be aquiline and defined. Full lips that turned slightly upward in the corners hinted at a ready smile.

Greta blushed; her hand flew to her neck as if to steady a pulse. She quickly looked away and cleared her throat.

Lit shoved his hands inside the wide pocket of his sweatshirt, then patted the back pocket of his jeans, still searching for the coin pouch. With a scoff, he said, “I just had it. It's here somewhere.”

“Don't worry if you don't have the money,” Greta quickly replied. “After you worked so hard to earn it, I feel bad to even take it from you.”

Embarrassed that she might think him penniless, Lit blurted, “That's nice of you, but no. I have plenty of money.” He quickly added, “I just bought some bread because I haven't eaten in a while. I must have misplaced my pouch after paying for it.”

Greta's eyes glistened, and she looked as if she were about to cry.

Lit placed his backpack on the ground and rummaged through it, unaware that his comment about going hungry only deepened the impression that he had no money.”

Regaining her composure, she said, “The room is one of our more elegant, with a fireplace, and it even has a private washtub and washstand.”

She glanced down and added, “I can offer you a small discount if that helps, with no need to pay in advance.”

“That's very nice of you,” he said, distracted, still trying to remember where he'd put his coins after buying bread.

“Oh, it's no bother to help those in need,” she replied, tilting her head.

“Thank you. I can manage without a discount, but… if you're offering, I won't argue,” Lit said, deciding to search for the pouch later. “I'll come bring the payment as soon as I find the coins. I really appreciate this.”

The girl waved her hand dismissively. “No, not at all. It's my pleasure.” Sliding the key across the counter, she gestured toward the staircase and said, “Your room is right up those stairs. Third door down. Supper is served in the dining room, which is through the archway. “With a playful wink, she added, “Tonight's special is a rare treat. Our seafood stew is

a crowd-pleaser, so the tavern will have a full house this evening!” “Merry, I can't thank you enough,” Lit said, picking up his belongings.

“Oh,” she laughed. “Merry founded the tavern many years ago. I'm Greta, one of her descendants,” she said, pointing to her name tag, which was hidden beneath her hair. “Merry's Tavern and Inn has stood for over five centuries.” She gestured to an oil painting in a gilded wooden frame, hung on the wall behind her. The painting depicted a woman in a dark green dress stitched with floral embroidery. Soft golden curls framed her face, and she wore a warm, inviting smile.

“Pleased to meet you, Greta. I'm Lit,” he said. His eyes shifted to the painting behind her shoulder. The portrait was old, with some areas of the paint cracked and faded, yet the smile on the woman's pretty face still conveyed kindness.

Returning his gaze to Greta, he added, “She was very lovely, your ancestor, and I can see your resemblance to her,” he said sincerely.

Greta's cheeks flushed pink. She giggled, covering her mouth, then lowered her eyes. “Um, thank you. Well. There are fresh towels in your room and extra blankets in the chest at the foot of the bed,” she said. “If you need anything, just call down, and Stefan will bring it up.” She folded her hands on the counter, smiled, and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” Lit said, taking the key and heading upstairs.

Greta called out from behind him, “I'll have Stefan bring up a bowl of ice for those bruises.” She cocked her head and smiled. “Be a shame to have them cover up such a handsome face.”

Lit paused and turned, wondering if she was being sarcastic. But the look in her eyes said otherwise. “That would be greatly appreciated,” he said with a half-smile, running a hand selfconsciously over his face. “It's going to take a lot of ice to make me look better.

The sound of Greta's soft giggle followed him as he turned and headed for the staircase.