The Conjuring Glass
Read The Conjuring Glass Online
Authors: Brian Knight
Copyright ©2013 by Brian Knight
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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ISBN: 978-1-936564-72-9 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-936564-73-6 (ebook)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2012956362
Printed in the United States of America
JournalStone rev. date: March 8, 2013
Cover Design: Denis Daniel
Cover and Interior Art: M. Wayne Miller
Edited By: Norman L. Rubenstein
Dedication
To Norman L. Rubenstein, Godfather of the Phoenix Girls, and my own girls, Judi Key and Ellie Knight, who inspire me more than they know.
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Many thanks to my friends, in and out of the business, who have encouraged and believed in me, even when I didn’t. Trent Zelazny, Monica O’Rourke, Jenny Orosel, Shane Staley, Larry Roberts, Tom Moran, and the many others. Special thanks also to Shawna, Judi, Ellie, and Chris.
Extra special thanks to everyone whose contribution added a little extra magic to this story – Christopher Payne, Norman L. Rubenstein, Jenna Meadows, M. Wayne Miller, Hannah Walthers, and Judi Snyder.
Accidental Magic
The Night the Magic Died
Four girls walked through the darkness, led by memory and moonlight to a familiar and secret place. They did not speak; the only sounds were the dry whisper of wind through tall, wild grass, and the occasional sob or sniffle as emotions peaked.
Everything had changed that night.
The echo of babbling water joined the wind, then overcame it, and the trail dipped into a darker valley. The canopy of a grove below was visible in the moonglow. The four girls’ silhouettes vanished into the shadows of the trees.
Moments later there was a flash of light in the heart of the grove, and a fire lit it from within.
They sat on boulders circling the stone fire pit and stared into the dancing flames, determinedly not facing each other.
Then one of them did look up, a girl in her late teens with waist-length blonde hair, fresh tears streaming from her wide brown eyes. She scanned the down-turned faces of her friends.
“It’s our fault. We should have been there. We should have known.”
A second girl, tall and athletic, with bright green eyes and thick auburn hair jerked her head up, glaring. “It’s not our fault! She could have asked us for help, but she didn’t. We would have gone. We would have helped her.”
The third, a mousey girl with brown hair and small brown eyes nestled behind thick glasses said, “She was trying to protect us. She felt responsible for us, because …”
“I don’t need protecting,” the second girl said. Her face was wild with anger, feral in the firelight.
The fourth, sitting furthest from the fire and hidden in shadow, spoke. “Stop it! Stop fighting. You’re only making it worse.”
“Can it get any worse?” the blonde girl asked.
A moment of silence followed her question.
“It’s getting weaker,” the fourth girl said. “I can hardly feel it.”
“That’s what he wanted,” the auburn-haired girl said. “Break the circle, kill the magic.”
The blonde girl rose and paced in front of the fire. “What are we going to do?”
The auburn-haired girl stood and reached inside her jacket, pulling out a slender, wooden wand. Its tip sparkled crimson in the flickering firelight. She gripped it in both hands, and snapped it in half.
“We let it die,” she said. “I’ve lost too much tonight. Besides, we owe a debt now. We have to live long enough to repay it.”
“Yes,” the others spoke as one.
One by one, they stood and drew their wands, snapping them in half.
“Hurry,” the girl hidden in shadow said. “We have to get back.”
The auburn-haired girl pulled a burning stick from the fire and held it like a torch, lighting her way from the fire pit to the nearby creek. The others followed as she stepped carefully down the path to the water’s edge, to the base of a huge old tree whose roots wound and twisted into the water. There was a long scar in the bark where lightning had once struck it, a deep, wide crack where one of its huge twin forks had sheared away. The auburn-haired girl reached into it, her arm disappearing to the elbow, and withdrew a small wooden box, like a treasure chest.
She handed her torch to the blonde girl, pulled a large brass key from her pocket, and opened the chest. Inside was a small, battered book, its hard leather cover worn and curled at the edges. She dropped the halves of her broken wand into the box, and held it out to the others, who did the same.
Finally, she drew a second wand from her jacket, and held it up to the torch light. “I can’t do it,” she said, her voice catching on the last word. “It was hers. I can’t break it.” She dropped it into the chest and slammed the lid shut.
Crying out with anger, she hurled the chest across the creek, where it bounced into the open mouth of a small cave in the solid granite wall, vanishing in the darkness. A second later the key followed it.
The girl in the shadows moved forward, as if to run for the thrown chest and key, then stilled.
“It’s over,” the auburn-haired girl said. “Let’s go.”
They all rose and turned to go, except for the fourth girl, the one in the shadows. She moved forward only a single step, and stopped. Another figure, tall, red-haired, and with a ragged scar running down the right side of his face from temple to jaw line, stepped from the darkness and stopped beside her. He looked down into her face, eyebrows raised.
She grimaced, turned back to the others, and drew a wand hidden inside her jacket. She pointed it at their backs and closed her eyes.
There was a flash of blinding white light.
Then darkness.
Little Red
Penny Sinclair came out of the old nightmare in her usual fashion, jerking awake with a gasp and throwing a hand in front of her eyes to block out that blinding flash of light. Slowly she became aware of her surroundings, not a country grove in the dark of night but the back seat of a bus.
Even as reality asserted itself, the dream faded from her mind. As always, only the barest sense of the nightmare remained, and the knowledge that she’d had it many times before in the past four months. The four months since her mother died.
Penny lowered her upraised hand and saw strange faces, all turned toward her. Curiosity was plain in some expressions, irritation in others, but most regarded her with naked sympathy, even pity.
Except for Miss Riggs, who sat beside Penny with her nose pressed in an open book, as oblivious to Penny as she had been on the flight in from California. Miss Riggs responded to Penny’s few attempts at conversation with terse, single word replies and impatient grunts.
Penny ignored the stares and peered through the window past her silent traveling companion. A passing car threw a glaze of brightness over the glass, and as it faded she found her own reflection, bloodshot green eyes, her long, curly red hair mussed from a day of hard travel, staring sadly back at her for a moment.
It was hard to believe she was hundreds of miles away from the city she’d lived in her entire life. The view through her window was achingly familiar. It could have been any of a hundred northern California roads she’d traveled with her mom.
The bus slowed as it passed a low, wild hillock, then slowed further as the wild grass blurred into a field of early summer wheat. Penny’s California daydreams evaporated into her new Washington reality when a weathered sign passed in front of her window.
Welcome to Dogwood, Washington
–
Home of Harvest Days
.
Penny closed her eyes, sighed, and when she opened them, they were rolling to a stop in downtown Dogwood.
“Welcome home,” Miss Riggs said, catching Penny’s eye. She watched her with a familiar, narrow-eyed scrutiny, as if studying a picture she didn’t much like.
Penny couldn’t muster the strength for a reply, could barely muster the effort to stand when Miss Riggs rose to her feet. Hugging the bag that held her last few possessions, Penny waited for Miss Riggs to step past her, and followed her down the narrow aisle.
They were the only two to exit the bus in Dogwood, and no one waited at the curb to get on. A few moments after Penny stepped down onto the sidewalk, the door swished closed behind her.
Penny watched the silhouettes of the passengers through the bus windows as it moved into the distance, wishing she were still with them, driving into the orange summer dusk for cities and towns unknown.
