Parking the truck he grabbed his wallet, keys, and phone and strode towards the front door of the little shop. He spotted his cousin seated in a comfortable looking leather chair that sat close to the floor and had a small coffee table that separated him from a chair that sat across from it. The table was strewn with notebooks and papers and an overlarge cup of what looked to be an untouched coffee. The inside of the café was decorated with faux artsy pictures of coffee beans and small bookshelves with signs like, Local Authors, Biographies, and How to books.

A bell chimed his entry, but Tristan paid neither the sound nor him any attention. The barista greeted Tim, but his only reply was a quick wave, the whole time his eyes not moving from the strange man pouring over the notes on the table. He stopped just short of the table and kept his voice low enough that only Tristan could hear him.

“If you even try to get up I'll knock you right the hell back down,” he snarled. Tristan's head shot up as he quickly scooped up the notes, including a picture of the old Essence House that was written on with black Sharpie and a photograph of a plane crash. He tried to shove them into a large manilla envelope, but papers slipped out and scattered onto the floor.

As Tristan quickly grasped at the errant sheets of paper he darted his gaze from Tim and back down at his targets. “Look, I know you're mad, but...”

Tristan was the second Edmond Tim had interrupted in only a few minutes. “I don't care right now. Promise not to try to run off and I'll promise to make this as civil as possible. Deal?”

Stuffing the last of the papers into the envelope, his cousin nodded sharply and took a seat. Before either could speak, though, the barista appeared from seemingly nowhere. “Can I get you anything, sir?” she asked rather cheerfully.

“You don't serve hard liquor here, do you?” His entirely serious question was met with a chuckle that answered that a little more neatly than he had hoped. “I'll just have whatever he had,” he finished, pointing to Tristan with his thumb and shooting her an overly saccharine smile.

Taking a seat in the rather comfortable chair, Tim leaned back and shot his cousin a questioning glance. “Now is the part of the story where you explain why the hell trying to break into a tool shed and steal from my truck isn't completely batshit behavior.”

Tristan straightened up and glared back at Tim. “It isn't crazy. It's about my dad...”

Tim laughed. “You mean the guy who told me to find you and put me in charge of Essence Corners instead of you? And how is a tool shed worth all of this trouble?”

Tristan eyed Tim suspiciously. “Wait, you don't know about the shed? You're not trying to keep me out?”

Tim cocked his head as the barista appeared with a cup of coffee that looked like it could safely hold a babies head. He took a sip of the hot liquid and placed it back down on the table. “Damn, you like the strong stuff.” He reached for a handful of sugar packets and started ripping open the paper squares and emptying them into his foaming cup. “I mean, I was told to keep everyone out, so I guess that includes you, yeah, but it's a friggin' tool shed. What could possibly be in there that would matter this much?”

Tristan cocked his head, surprised. “Elise didn't tell you anything?”

“What the hell would my sister know about a damned tool shed?” Tim asked incredulously.

Rifling through the papers in the envelope Tristan shook his head. “I don't even know where to start.”

“Easy, at the beginning,” Tim shot back.

“Okay, so about a hundred years ago,” Tristan started before being interrupted.

“Are you screwing with me right now?” Tim growled, his patience growing thin.

Tristan threw his hands up in exasperation. “Yeah, I...I really don't know how to explain this at all. Can we just go to the shed and I'll show you?”

Tim's eyes narrowed as he waved for the woman behind the counter. “Can we get these to go, please?” he asked, his tone a fake veneer of pleasant. He turned back to his table mate. “I'll take you, but I swear, if you screw me over I will track you down all over again.”

He stood up and passed both of the mugs to the barista. “And you better not have tried to swipe my credit card because you're out of money. You're paying.”

Tristan grudgingly accepted and paid up. The two thanked the woman, grabbed their cups and made their way over to the truck. Tim hopped in and placed his drink in the cup holder. As the engine roared to life Tim tossed out a question that would hopefully be a little easier to answer. “Alright, so earn my trust back. Why the hell did you take my credit card?”

“I wasn't going to spend anything on it, I just needed a way into your room and I thought if I showed your credit card to the manager at your motel he would give me a spare key.”

“And you needed a way into my room, why exactly?”

Tristan stared out the window as Barnabas' shop passed his vision. “I was hoping to find a spare key to get into the shed and then you would be none the wiser.”

The story made some sense, but it was still filled with more holes than a screen door. “Okay, but how did you even know where I was staying?”

Tristan sheepishly responded, his words coming out slowly. “I've been keeping an eye on you since you got into town.” He could see the annoyance ripple across Tim's features and attempted to calm him down. “Look, I didn't know what side you were on, so I had to be careful.”

“Are you serious right now?” Tim said, waving a hand as he turned on to the main drag. “We could have been having a pre-birthday drink together and getting to know each other again after all these years and yet you thought you'd rather watch me from bushes, steal from me, and go completely conspiracy theory in a coffee shop? You're ridiculous.”

Tristan sighed apologetically. “I know, you're right. Happy Birthday, man. You'll get it when we get inside, I promise.”

“Sure,” Tim remarked, his eyes now falling upon the plaza and hopefully some future answers to the craziness that had ensued. “Happy Birthday to you, too.”

The rest of the trip was silent as the truck drove behind the row of buildings and straight up to the lone tool shed that sat all by itself in the back. Putting the truck into park, Tim yanked out the keys and approached the heavy lock on the roll-up door of the shed. When the lock sprang open, Tim removed it and pulled the door all the way up revealing your average tool shed with a concrete floor. The floor was dusty and cluttered with a large riding lawnmower, snowblower, and walls that were lined with shelves filled with tools and other maintenance essentials.

“Good, now you can show me what's so damned important that we had to go through all of that nonsense?”

Tristan nodded and started scanning the shelves, moving boxes aside and checking to see what was behind them. Tim found his annoyance rise as Tristan became more and more desperate in his motions.

“I swear, if this crap was all so you can borrow a wrench...”

His cousin looked around with concern, his eyes darting all around the room. “No. There's gotta be some way in. It's gotta be here, somewhere.”

Tim took a few steps forward, kicking back the edge of a plastic mat that lay under the dust, and various yard appliances. Pushing it back down with his foot he looked back up at Tristan's now creepily excited features.

“On the ground! Of course!” he exclaimed as he grabbed the corner and tried to pull the mat out to no avail. Tim watched Tristan with narrowed eyes as the other man began walking the snowblower out of the shed. “Can you move the lawnmower?”

Tim hopped on, found the proper key and it's engine sputtered to life. “Alright, but if there's nothing under there you had better clean this mess up and explain yourself,” he called out over the loud noise. When the mower was out on the grounds he turned the key to off and slowly turned around.

“This had better be good,” he began before biting his tongue. Tristan stood with the mat pulled almost all of the way back to reveal a wooden door in the middle of an otherwise cement floor.

“Told you,” Tristan said, beaming as he pulled the mat all the way back and left it half rolled up against the shelves. Tim was lost for words as Tristan turned the flashlight on his phone and reached for the steel loop handle on the middle of the door. “Can you shut the front door? We don't want anyone to see what we're doing.” Tim robotically followed the command, his mind whirling with questions that he couldn't yet put a voice to.

Tristan heaved the door up until it stood straight up. Pointing his flashlight down the two could see stone stairs that descended down a long, narrow, stone hallway. Tim turned his phones flashlight function on as well and began to make his way down behind Tristan. He was surprised to see beautiful brass candle sconces embedded in the walls. He touched one as though he needed to be certain that it was real. It was. He could feel the wax crack some between his fingers as he pressed a little harder and then let go.

The two stepped out into a wine cellar that looked as though it had seen better days. Most of the shelves were empty, though there were still more than enough bottles for the two to have a happy birthday if they chose to. At the far side of the room was another set of stone stairs that led back up.

“If you knew about this, why didn't we raid this place last night? Wine and champagne for everyone!” Tim picked up a bottle with a french name that he was certain he couldn't pronounce. Underneath was the date 1953. He whistled to himself as Tristan responded.

“I didn't know exactly what we'd find, just that we'd find a way in.”

Tim replaced the bottle as he followed Tristan up the stairs. “In to where?” he asked, too lost in his wonderment to be annoyed at this point.

“It's just easier if I show you,” he said, opening the oak door at the top of the stairs. Daylight flooded in. The two stepped out to find that they had stepped out from a door that stood under a large, wooden staircase. They were now in a familiar looking foyer, though Tim couldn't place where he had seen it before. The room was decorated very classically, with more bronze sconces on the walls, beautiful wainscotting lining walls that stood tall with beautiful paintings of people most likely long ago deceased.

“What?” was all that Tim could muster as he looked around and attempted to take everything in.

Tristan nodded towards the twin oak doors that seemed to be the main entryway into the manor. “Go outside. You'll understand.”

Without a question, Tim turned towards the doors and approached with a juxtaposing mixture of caution and excitement. Grasping the bronze handles he pressed his thumbs down and heaved the doors open, revealing a long, expansive front lawn. A freshly ashphalted driveway led down, framed by perfectly trimmed hedges, to an iron-hewn, onyx gate. It had an art deco feel to it, though it felt somehow...timeless. Atop the gates he could make out two words, though they were backwards so as to introduce approaching guests.

It read simply,

ESSENCE HOUSE

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