Golden Healer E-Book

M.J. Mallon

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

I didn’t think my life could get any weirder, until the dreaded rollercoaster…

Amelina Scott's destiny is to be a Krystallos: a magician of light, chosen to learn the ways of crystal magic on her 16th birthday. Located on a river pathway in a mysterious part of Cambridge, the Crystal Cottage is guarded by mythical beings.

Unfortunately, there are those who seek to harm this haven of light. Learning of Ryder - a Shadow Sorcerer with hypnotic powers - Amelina discovers that her own magic is now threatened, and that the Curse of Time might be unleashed again.

As secrets abound and the creatures of the Chronophage come alive, can Amelina become the true magician she needs to be?

A unique, imaginative mystery full of magic-wielding and dark elements, Bloodstone is a riveting adventure for anyone interested in fantasy, mythology or the world of the paranormal. NOTE: this book contains mention of self-harm, mental health issues and alludes to the potential dangers of sexual attraction, which may trigger younger/sensitive readers.

Leseprobe

GOLDEN HEALER

THE CURSE OF TIME BOOK 2

M.J. MALLON

CONTENTS

Inspirations

Prologue

Puzzle Piece 1

Puzzle Piece 2

Puzzle Piece 3

Puzzle Piece 4

Puzzle Piece 5

Puzzle Piece 6

Puzzle Piece 7

Puzzle Piece 8

Puzzle Piece 9

Puzzle Piece 10

Puzzle Piece 11

Puzzle Piece 12

Puzzle Piece 13

Puzzle Piece 14

Puzzle Piece 15

Puzzle Piece 16

Puzzle Piece 17

Puzzle Piece 18

Puzzle Piece 19

Puzzle Piece 20

Puzzle Piece 21

Puzzle Piece 22

Puzzle Piece 23

Puzzle Piece 24

Puzzle Piece 25

Puzzle Piece 26

Puzzle Piece 27

Puzzle Piece 28

Puzzle Piece 29

Puzzle Piece 30

Puzzle Piece 31

Puzzle Piece 32

Puzzle Piece 33

Puzzle Piece 34

Puzzle Piece 35

Puzzle Piece 36

Puzzle Piece 37

Puzzle Piece 38

Puzzle Piece 39

Puzzle Piece 40

Puzzle Piece 41

Puzzle Piece 42

Puzzle Piece 43

Puzzle Piece 44

Puzzle Piece 45

Epilogue

Reviews

Self-Harm Disclaimer and Help

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Copyright (C) 2022 M.J. Mallon

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Edited by Terry Hughes

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

Dedicated to the one and only rollercoaster that I ever rode. It was in Portugal, and I was on holiday with my young family. I’ll never forget that day, I overcame my fears and rode a rollercoaster with the encouragement of my much-loved family, my husband, David, and daughters Natasha and Georgina. So, it’s time to ride another rollercoaster… I hope you will come along with me for this crazy ride! Let’s meet our fears together…

INSPIRATIONS

The Curse of Time series is inspired by the Corpus Christi Chronophage clock in Kings Parade, Cambridge and Juniper Artland’s Crystal Grotto in Wilkieston, Scotland: The Light Pours out of Me, by artist Anya Gallaccio.

Anya Gallaccio is a British artist born in 1963 who creates minimalist installations working with organic matter. Anya Gallaccio: The Light Pours out of Me – Jupiter Artland

Both creations were intended to be beautiful but unsettling. On first encountering the clock and the grotto, I was overcome with conflicting emotions. The chronophage’s disturbing nature, characterised by the grasshopper’s pincer-sharp teeth, continues long after the grotto’s initial strangeness.

These are incredible visions of creativity and well worth a visit. The above photo depicts the grasshopper of the chronophage gobbling time. Photo courtesy of Dr John C Taylor OBE.

The Corpus Christi Chronophage is a popular tourist attraction located on Kings Parade in Cambridge, UK, and is one of the most incredible creations I have ever seen. It was invented by the esteemed inventor, Dr John C Taylor, OBE, who I had the pleasure of meeting in September 2017. It was an extraordinarily inspiring moment, and one I will treasure forever.

Who would have thought I would have the opportunity to spend time with one of the greatest living inventors of our time? This intriguing gentleman is also a pilot, adventurer, photographer, architect and philanthropist. His striking invention, the Chronophage clock was one of Time’s Best Inventions of 2008. Dr Taylor invested five years and £1 million in the Corpus Clock project, and a team of two hundred people, including engineers, sculptors, scientists, jewellers, and calligraphers were involved in its creation.

Also, I was thrilled to be invited to a Horology Hour online talk… on Midsummer’s Day, June 24, 2020, with Dr Taylor. It was fascinating!

Find out more about Dr Taylor, OBE, here: http://www.johnctaylor.com/the-chronophage/

And on my blog here:

https://mjmallon.com/2017/09/17/poetry-inspired-by-the-dragon-chronopage-colleens-weekly-poetry-challenge-no-50-haiku-tanka-haibun-voice-watch/

I’d also like to mention Clowns Café, which briefly appears in this novel. Clowns was a well-known and much-loved café in Cambridge that had been a popular spot for 30 years and has since closed, following the death of its original owner. It was such a striking café, so full of character and, of course, clowns that it inspired me to include it in this novel. I’m not sure what readers will make of my interpretation of “clowns” but I hope that visitors and old friends of the café and their family may allow me a little artistic jiggery-pokery! I hope they and you enjoy!

PROLOGUE

Worms, caviar too,

Two unlikely friends share tea,

And Chit - ter—Chat - ter,

That Chiastolite, oh my!

And Amelina’s bloodstone.

Come with me…

Through a gated door leading to a quaint herb and rose garden where two strange companions, Leanne and Eruterac,share a rare moment together.

Today, they marvelled at the beauty and fragility of the rose petals that created a dazzling display of white, yellow, pink and darkest crimson blooms. The delightful fragrance of roses and herbs filled the air, bursting with sweetness. In the background, a quaint old cottage with shuttered windows rested as if waiting for a passing stranger to dare to cross its threshold. Within, sunbeams alighted on all manner of crystals as they twinkled, longing for a release from their embedded position on the walls. The ground around the cottage stirred, breaking and settling as if threatening to draw the cottage back into its hiding place, the earth.

In the surrounding courtyard, there were cages and bird feeders hanging from the trees. White doves cooed and preened themselves in bird baths.

The creature Eruterac paid no attention to the antics of these exquisite birds. Instead, he fidgeted as he tried to rearrange his tall skeletal frame into Leanne’s dainty, wrought-iron chairs.

Leanne sat opposite him. Except for the tulle layers of her silken gown, her tiny frame appeared lost in the chair. She tilted her head with an air of grandeur, as if she were about to join a garden party frequented by the finest royalty, or perhaps by the gods themselves.

Eruterac had no such attire, except for his knitted Rasta cap with sun-cured palm leaves that covered his matted dreadlocks, infested with rotting insects and decaying skin and held together by lumps of graveyard earth.

His needs were a thing of the past, now his only concern were the worms that crawled across his bony frame. He held one such wriggling creature inches from the gap where his mouth used to be and edged forward, dangling it in front of Leanne’s nose.

“Dinner,” he joked as he bobbed his skeletal head.

Leanne shuddered. “No worms, thanks, dearest creature. Caviar for me!” She picked up her finest china teapot and poured the liquid into a cup. It flowed slowly, twinkling with myriad brilliant colours. When it filled the cup, it turned the colour Leanne expected. She’d thought of green tea and magical green tea it was.

Eruterac choked and spluttered on clods of earth as he laughed. “That’s foul. Green tea, how can you drink such muck?”

“Easy. I do so with a smile, unlike… poor you! I see worms oozing gunk where your dear mouth used to be,” replied Leanne, reaching forward to pat Eruterac on his skeletal shoulder.

They rested for a moment, her gentle hand on his bones.

“I’ll try not to drink such delicacies!” replied Eruterac, cracking his bones for a joke.

“Wise fellow. Forgive me for changing the subject, but your new hat is very fetching! It’s so brown and earthy with that Chiastolite death crystal and the black cross embellishing the cap’s centre.”

“Indeed, it’s a dark beauty, like an honourable death,” he said. His skeletal arm reached up to touch the crystal on his hat.

“Take heart, dear creature, forget death, and being bound to this cottage. Let us rejoice in the simple pleasures of life, which we take for granted…” Leanne pointed at their sublime surroundings.

Eruterac sighed. “Yes, there are times amid such tranquillity and beauty that I forget everything.”

A white dove landed on Leanne’s slender shoulder. She turned and smiled. But the dove thought better of it and alighted on the creature’s hat. It pecked away at the worms, making the creature smile.

“Cheeky doves, always favouring Eruterac’s sunny hat.”

“They know who provides them with a constant dinner of worms. And who’s boss.”

“Huh! A boss? You? That Chiastolite’s making you big-headed. Oh, my days! The protectors, you, and my dearest doves are all that I and my dear cottage need… But I mustn’t forget, I have news to impart – the Midsummer Fly is up to his tricks.”

“Where’s that stinking fly been to this time?” asked Eruterac, leaning forward, sending worms tumbling towards Leanne’s teacup. Her eyes grew wide as she placed a protective hand over the top, but a few swift worms landed in the saucer. She swiped them away.

“Oh, anguish me. Worms in my saucer! How my flesh crawls. Ugh. I feel giddy.” Leanne placed her tiny hand on her forehead. Her multihued grey hair twirled like an ebullient rainbow in a cloudy sky.

“Leanne, forget the worms. You were talking about the Midsummer Fly?”

“Yes. The fly has been to Amelina’s. He flew in her open bedroom window, sampled her Krystallos blood but, other than that, my crystal ball refuses to grant me a vision. I placed my trust in Amelina, and I fear I was hasty.” Leanne sighed and her hands fell to her lap as her shoulders slumped.

“This gurgling, sensation in my gut tells me that a shadow demon threatens the cottage’s safety. I believe that the grasshopper and the fly are in cahoots. Either way, I could suggest this or that, but it would all be for nought. Amelina’s young and in time she will learn to value the magical gifts you’ve entrusted her with.”

He lifted his hat and a family of rats, which had been resting on his dreadlocks, ran free, knocking over Leanne’s teacup.

“Ugh. I wish you wouldn’t do that, Eruterac,” said Leanne, wagging her finger at him. “You pretend to honour me, but the last time you did that, you broke my precious china teacup!”

“How could you accuse me of such a thing, Leanne?” Eruterac’s eye sockets winked, crunching together, making a horrendous grinding sound.

“Stop that! You have no eyeballs – you devil! The rats devoured your eyes long ago. Enough.” She paused for a moment before announcing, “The Bloodstone will find a way.”

“Of Krystallos blood and Amelina, I am certain,” replied Eruterac, bowing.

PUZZLE PIECE 1

CHASING OFF THE PAP

The paparrazi,

They have met their crazy match,

When Tobe barks, they’ll know,

He’s a much-loved crazy dog,

Great at chasing off the pap!

I peered out of my double-bay living-room window. From there, I had an excellent view of our front garden with its many scattered flowerpots in various stages of growth, or demise. A single lonesome tree looked as if it might have been struck by lightning, and its unfrequented bird box suggested that to be true. Two small, neglected rectangular patches of lawn further announced that time spent in the front garden was kept to a minimum.

Dan Steele, a local reporter, was wading through the long grass with his camera at the ready. He’d set up his equipment ready to get a spectacular scoop. Of course, Dad spotted him and avoided going outside all morning. He’d squirrelled himself away in his attic office at the top of the stairs. I know how he hates it when the press arrives on our doorstep, uninvited. So, to cheer him up, I popped up two flights of stairs to take him a cup of tea.

Toby had no way of understanding Dad’s predicament. He camped outside the door, whining. For the non-initiated—, Toby is my aunt Karissa’s mad dog, whom we’re dog sitting.

By lunchtime, hunger and Toby’s escalating destructive behaviour brought Dad and dog downstairs.

I heard Dad in the kitchen, singing to himself. He often does this when he’s preparing food. He’s tall, my dad, with ash-brown wavy hair that bounces in tune to the voice in his heart when he’s happy but clings to his head when he’s sad. He joined me by the bay window, carrying a welcome plate of sandwiches for us to share.

As we tucked in, he raised an imaginary toast to Dan, saying: “Another strange day in the life of the Scotts.”

I squeezed his shoulder. Poor Dad, when would the journalists leave us Scotts alone?

Nothing much else must be happening in the suburbs of Cambridge.

He smiled and gave Toby a pat, attaching his lead. “Time to face the paparazzi, Tobes!”

“Is Toby up for it, Dad?” I asked jokingly.

“Tobes and I, we have it covered, don’t worry.” Toby barked in agreement, pulling at his lead in a frenzy of excitement.

This was classic, Toby and Dad. What a joke! The press have no clue how strange we are. Imagine if they discovered the truth? Instead of a tiny column in the local newspaper, we’d warrant a double-page spread.

As Dad lunged out of the house, Toby bounded off. He almost pulled Dad over, but Dad recovered his balance. Toby leapt up, knocking over Dan who staggered back but righted himself.

Reporter Dan’s bushy eyebrows advanced up his lined, curious forehead. “Mr Scott, I’ve a few questions… Please tell us about your strange rejuvenation. Your neighbours have reported a sudden, extraordinary change in your physical appearance. You disappeared, and, against all the laws of science, you aged and then, like magic, you’re back and thereafter you shed decades.”

Dad didn’t bother responding. A “no comment,” would have been too good for Dan. Instead, he gave Dan an evil look that said it all. And then, in a fury, Dad dropped Toby’s lead and stormed back into the house.

Dan ended up outside, alone with Toby.

Dad and I now stood side-by-side by the lounge window, watching. When poor Toby realised his favourite master had abandoned him, he whined. Whining didn’t succeed, so he barked and jumped up at Dan’s leg, hoping that he would take him for a walk. Dan ignored him as Toby ran back and forth until the inevitable happened. He knocked over a beautiful plant pot in the garden, smashing it into two halves.

Toby stared at it for a second before barking again.

I turned to Dad and laughing I remarked: “Toby’s barking is the closest Dan will ever get to an interview.”

Dad’s face cracked into a huge grin. “I almost feel sorry for Dan!”

Toby moved towards the front doorstep and howled while scraping the door with his paw.

From the defeated expression on Dan’s face, it was clear Toby’s behaviour would drive even the most determined journalists away. He was a challenging dog, not one to cope with alone, not if you wanted to keep your sanity so, like all sensible reporters, Dan left with his tail between his legs.

PUZZLE PIECE 2

A SONG TO PUZZLE THROUGH

While Dad and Tobes bond,

I scissor fragments of time,

Trying to figure,

To decide if we are safe.

Perhaps a song might help me?

Toby’s back in the house so Dad and his furry pal are sharing a man-and-dog moment in the kitchen. Toby’s still barking, his way of hollering that he is somewhat distraught that he didn’t get a chance for a walk.

Dad crouched down to Toby’s eye level to give him a mournful, forgive-me look. “Sorry, pal, it’s still dangerous out there, the journos may be lurking.” He gave Toby’s fur a brisk pat, and Toby responded by licking his face. Dad patted him some more, he snacked on some crisps, poured himself a beer and put a bowl of food down for Toby.

Toby followed him into the lounge where they companionably rested while Dad did one of his much-loved crosswords.

Dad and Toby have that type of relationship, mutual appreciation of food and a keen devotion to each other, whereas Mum can’t abide cooking and isn’t much one for eating, or crosswords either. Well, not unless someone else prepares a feast for her, or fills in the gaps in the crosswords!

I left them to it and ran upstairs. Alone in my bedroom, I lay on my bed, surrounded by tattooed posters of rock legends. My eyes settled on Green Day’s Billy Joe as I muddled through my thoughts. I’ve been cutting newspaper articles about Dad, Mum and me to make a collage of short poems, song lyrics and art.

The common words are age, Dad, weird, strange, unnatural phenomena, dysfunctional, Scott family, curious, neighbours, fantastical, truth.

You get the idea! They’re the new Scott buzz words.

I’ve spread them out on my bed. My cat Shadow plonked himself on top of them. His black fur and white patch on his neck combined well with the stark contrast of the newsprint. I imagined he’d look good in a photo shoot for a magazine: Black cats are sleek, beautiful and mysterious. Shadow sprawled out next to me, keeping me company and hiding away from Toby.

Instead of creating an artistic collage, I wrote a little song on Dad’s guitar, which used to be covered in dust and sadness before I altered the path of our fortunes with Bloodstone magic…

The song goes like this:

Our family fades to strange.

Who are you now?

I guess I know you, but…

You may stay or go.

You disappeared unnatural.

Came back new, dysfunctional.

I guess I know you, but…

I can’t tell what you’ll do.

Dad’s a living phenomenon

Of our weird truth

I guess I know you, but

I can’t tell if you’re OK.

Esme’s fantastical,

Bound by bloodless ties.

I guess I know you, but…

Blood doesn’t promise truth.

Our neighbours rock up

Shaking gossip within rumours

I guess I know you, but

The paparazzi don’t know the truth

Mum was super hysterical

Now she grins too much

I guess I know you, but…

You used to shout a lot.

Esme’s trapped

Scared to tell the truth

I guess I know you but

I long to set you free.

Shadow walks in darkness

In purrs he speaks

I guess I know you, but…

Who the hell are you?

PUZZLE PIECE 3

THE POSTMAN CALLS

Is this dream for real?

On this clowning nightmare night,

No one here but me,

I’m alone with this quiet,

Until a postman comes by.

It was rare to have the house to myself, but this Saturday I did. Mum and Dad were out for a late lunch. And I’d been listening to and playing music.

I heard them return home at around four pm. Shortly afterwards, I put down my guitar and ran downstairs to get my art book, which I’d left by the kitchen table.

Mum and Dad were in the kitchen, which is the hub of our house.

“Hi,” I said, greeting them with a smile. “How was your meal?”

“Tasty, but such small portions,” said Dad, as he opened the fridge door to steal some snacks and get himself a beer.

Mum shook her head and looked at Dad in amazement. She turned to me. “What did you have, Amelina? Something tasty?”

I smiled. “I didn’t make the toastie, Mum. Instead, I ordered pizza.”

Mum nodded, unsurprised.

“Any pizza left?” asked Dad, reopening the fridge as he rummaged inside again.

“You can’t still be hungry, Mark!” said Mum, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

“Not really, but someone might want a feast…”

Dad didn’t hang around – he dived right in. While Mum and I chatted, he stole the remains of the pizza to share with Toby.

Mum rolled her eyes with a look that said: Dad’s our fridge raider – we’re used to it.” She turned to me. “You OK? Did your practice go well?”

“I tried out some new songs.”

“I heard them as we came in the door.”

“Did you like them?”

“Sounded great. High volume! What about your art, any new pieces? Can I see?” Mum reached out to take a look at my art book.

I nodded and handed it to her.

“Oh, let’s see,” she said, turning the pages. “I love this one!”

She pointed to a simple drawing of a white cat staring out of a pink window at a blue mountain with birds flying away. The windows had pink bars, but no glass.

“That piece took me forever. The cat’s tail drove me mad!”

“Well, it looks perfect to me.”

“Aww, thanks. By the way, talking of cats, where has Shadow disappeared to?”

“Shadow is curled up by the washing machine. He chooses the oddest places to sleep. I’d better check what mischief Dad and Toby are getting up to,” said Mum as she went off to find them.

Mum’s prediction turned out to be right. Shadow was fast asleep, so I left him to snooze. With no charming Shadow to curl up with, I treated myself to a furry but not so cosy hot-water bottle and grabbed a book to read.

A sense of quiet seeped in, curling up, occupying the space by my side like a strange friend. The house and I snoozed. I kept drifting in and out of wakefulness and at one point I swear I heard, or dreamt I heard, a loud knock on the front door. No doorbell, just this rat-tat-tat.

Our house isn’t average, it’s large and goes on and on forever, reaching up to the heavens. At the top of the stairs, there’s this hexagonal hallway from which you can look out for intruders. From that vantage point, you can see who is by the front door. This is useful in case some weirdo comes calling. I’ve had my share of strange visitors, including the creature Eruterac, but I doubt it’s him. He doesn’t make house calls unless it’s Halloween, or my magical art called him into being… but that was a long time ago…

I snuggled under my covers, my eyes becoming heavy, until I succumbed to a dream-filled sleep…

In my dream, I saw myself leaning against the wooden rails of the hexagonal balcony on the first-floor landing. From there, I peered down, and saw a guy dressed in shorts poised, standing motionless with his clenched fist mid-air about to hammer on my front door. I’ve never seen this dude before. His free hand carried a parcel and his other hand hung suspended as if waiting for permission to knock.

I ran down to the ground floor and opened the door.

“Hi, I’ve a delivery for you,” he said as he offered the parcel to me.

I accepted the package and signed for it and, without replying, I shut the door on his curiosity.

The parcel had very little information on it. Just my name and address on the front and on the back a returns label that read: “Return to Clowns.”

There used to be a super-creepy but popular cafe called Clowns in the town centre in Cambridge, but it closed a while ago.

Placing the parcel on the kitchen table, I debated what to do with it. Open it, or try to?

I refocused on the parcel. There were many layers of thick brown paper, which I tore into with a mounting sense of unease until I discovered a box. What a joke. A plain white box. Or so I thought! I lifted the lid and inside I found a game of charades. The game had no maker’s name, but in a tiny corner of the lid’s interior I saw a motif: a Pierrot clown’s hat. As I looked more carefully, I saw little clown motifs everywhere, some of which were so tiny, it was almost impossible to see them. The sight of the game made my stomach churn with nausea.

Fleeting memories of our family’s unhappy past recurred in a muddle of crucifying thoughts. Whizzing me back in time to my 13th birthday, three years ago, when Mum, Dad, and I played a game of charades, just before my Dad disappeared. Dad had picked a card then. My heart skipped an unhappy beat when I remembered that time.

Returning to the box, there was a stack of cards, a die and a sandtimer. I picked up the cards and saw nothing unusual until four cards caught my eye: a clown, a grasshopper, a midsummer fly and a dragon with a pearl on its tongue. On the back of the clown card, it said: act a clown. But on the grasshopper, midsummer fly, and dragon cards there were no words printed; the backs of these cards were black. I stared at their rectangular blackness until my mind overflowed with the saddest thoughts until…

A tall clown appeared before me, then another and another. Each one was different from the last. They were short, stocky, lean, skinny, hefty, and fat. Their glowing white faces and over-painted red lips pressed towards me in the darkness.

“Go away!” I yelled.

I leant on the box, squashing the lid, hoping to make them disappear. As I did so, I heard terrible screeching sounds, followed by a continued silence as a thin black liquid flowed out of the box.

After that, I heard this tiny voice, an urging whisper, saying: “It’s OK to squash us, but don’t forget us. You must explore more – open the box and pick up the timer.”

“No!” I replied, fearful to do so.

“Do it, or we’ll come out again!”

With quivering hands, I opened the box but left the cards where they were. As I did so, the voice commanded me to lift the sandglass. I turned it upside down and watched the sand trickle. An intense yellow in colour, it flowed as if a strange force were holding it to the glass. I felt a growing sense of disquiet as I watched it. Suddenly, the granules of sand speeded up and turned rainbow-coloured until the last grain dropped to the bottom – black.

I heard a clown’s high-pitched laugh, and then I woke with an almighty jolt.

PUZZLE PIECE 4

AMELINA’S MISSING BLOODSTONE

My Bloodstone—a cure!

Could it be a miracle?

Or am I a fool?

To place my trust in magic,

Once lost, can it still be found?

The next morning, I awoke feeling groggy. What a terrible night dreaming of clowns, creepy charades games and sad memories. I remember before I’d gone to bed, I’d shut my bedroom window to keep the bugs out but somehow, in the middle of night, I must have gone sleepwalking. It appeared I had opened my bedroom window and left it slightly ajar. How disturbing! Bugs must have flown in unhampered, or worse, crawled up my nose while I was sleeping. How gross! I saw a spectacular red and angry bite on my leg. Feeling itchy, I jumped out of bed.

I doubted whether any of my protection stones would ward off insects – or creepy clowns. I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes. The alarm clock told me it was already midday. With a groan, I pushed back my covers and grabbed my slippers. Mum and Dad were out for a Sunday coffee and stroll in town and wouldn’t be back until later. The dream’s buried memories brought to the forefront of my mind now urged me to act.

Putting my dressing gown on, I wandered downstairs, making my way to the living room. The room looked much the same as it had three years ago. My eyes alighted on our old, battered sofa with its threadbare sagging cushions sunken by memories of carefree days. My hands trailed over a new art print that hung above the fireplace. It glowed with a vibrancy of its own, pumpkins and autumn leaves, embellishing it with rich layers of colour.

I stared at the unlit fireplace, remembering how it had roared three years ago, as Dad had twirled me around and around as we danced to music.

I’d become giddy with excitement so Dad, Mum and I settled down to play charades. We’d laughed and joked until… Dad plucked a charades card from the pack and his behaviour altered immediately. Perhaps the card had revealed some terrible fate that he could not unsee. For a dreadful moment, I imagined him as he was then, his dispassionate face, and an icy chill filled me with a terrifying sense of disquiet.

His next action had been so shocking and swift. He threw his charades card in the fire, and the fire raged as if a relentless anger consumed it. His expression altered, becoming distant and preoccupied. I glimpsed this weird bug in his eyes, a strange, mysterious portent of evil.

Thereafter, a stony look possessed his face. The party finished, and with no explanation, Mum and Dad sent me to bed.

At the time, I had no clue why he disappeared, or why the gentle part of Mum vanished, too. Mum wept for days and days afterwards, until a strange anger possessed her soul. Her outward appearance altered as deep, disturbing creases lined her forehead. It was as if her countenance, her entire personality altered becoming a caricature painting, expressing her inner torment.

Two years later, a strange man with bleary, bloodshot eyes and rasping breath came knocking at our front door. I pitied his bone weariness, his shuffling gait, so I let him in. I gestured for him to rest while I fetched him a glass of water. When Mum and I realised who he was, we reacted with extreme shock. Those extraordinary memories of Dad’s return torment me often and are impossible to put aside.

I stared at the silent and cool fireplace for a long while. The house stirred, I heard gentle humming noises as if the house wished to soothe me. I tried to put these disturbing, recurring thoughts to the back of my mind.

I moved away, soft steps taking me towards the kitchen. I grabbed a glass of juice and a slice of toast and walked up the stairs to my bedroom.

Closing the door, I leant over my bedside table to place the toast and juice down. I took a quick bite before I opened my curtains more fully. The window remained slightly ajar. I was reminded of my sleepwalking episode. Well, now I was suffering the consequences. I looked down at the huge bite on my leg and, with an effort, I fought the urge to scratch it.

I doubted whether any of my protection stones would ward off crawling insects or creepy clowns. Nevertheless, I longed to cup my Bloodstone in my hands, to see its earthy green tones with bright red spots and to feel its sweet, reassuring warmth. I had placed it in its protective pouch by my bedside table, but when I reached into the drawer, a sudden fear gripped my throat. I took a single breath to steady my rising panic.

My precious Bloodstone was gone.

I had promised to protect the crystals entrusted to me by Leanne, the dear wacky lady who tended her mysterious home – the magical Crystal Cottage.

But I, Amelina, had failed.

How could I explain this? Had Ryder fooled me? The strange, charismatic young man who appeared to come to my rescue on the river pathway when I’d first met him. Could he be responsible for the Bloodstone’s disappearance? I doubted he would taint his hands with such an act. Instead, I wondered whether he might have used an accomplice. His recent behaviour painted a new picture of him and one that showed his identity – a nasty, vindictive portrait.

As I pondered all of this, I heard someone on my front doorstep. The distinctive sound of the cracked slab alerted me to the visitor’s arrival. Whoever rang the doorbell did so in such an insistent manner that I felt an overwhelming compulsion to answer straight away.

I opened the door and there he was, Ryder, dressed in his signature black tee-shirt stretched tight across his ripped chest. His buttoned jeans screamed touch me. His black hair and immaculately trimmed eyebrows highlighted his eyes. I stared at his sensual green eye while his black eye blazed back at me like a dark alleyway full of dangerous excitement. My lips throbbed; my fingertips went to my mouth. I remembered how rough he’d been when he had last forced his way into my house. He had kissed me, and it had sickened me.

I’d fainted then, my skin becoming a host for the strangest tattoos that spread from him to me and the memory remains like a permanent shadow that haunts me.

“What do you want, Ryder?” I asked, trying to steady my voice and appear calm, as I held the door ajar.

“I’d like to talk to you,” he replied.

“I’ve nothing to say to you, Ryder.”

“And I have everything to say to you,” he said, his mesmerising voice making me falter.

His eyes captured mine, caressing my attention. They held me transfixed as their hypnotic gaze forced me to open the door.

“Come in,” I invited, catching a breath as if I wanted to reverse what I had just said.

He made his way through our hallway, looking around him but saying nothing. He stopped at the mirrors and stared at his reflection. Frowning, he wiped a smear across the surface of the mirror.

“Your mum letting the house go to ruin? Didn’t she used to be a clean-freak?”

“Shut up, Ryder. Leave my parents out of this.”

“Sorry…” He smirked and moved towards the lounge.

I pointed to the settee, suggesting that he sit down as far away from me as possible.

“Where’s your cat?” he asked. “Out rat-catching?”

“If he was rat-catching, he’d be here with you,” I retorted.

“That’s harsh,” replied Ryder, smiling as if I’d complimented him.

“I thought you’d come to apologise?”

“Sorry, yes I did. Can we be friends again?”

“I thought we were more than friends, and then you went off with my best mate. And now, every time I see you, my flesh crawls and the hairs on my neck stand up like you’re spooking me.”

“Really, how interesting… Your imagination does run wild, Amelina. There is something special about you. I want to discover what it is.” He stared at my lips as if reliving our last encounter.

“I think you should leave now. Your creepiness isn’t welcome here.”

“Not before you tell me what makes you special, Amelina. What makes you the girl with those sparkling eyes?”

“Christ, you’re such a weirdo. Why did I let you into my house?”

“Because you wanted me to come in.” He said, smirking. “Or perhaps I made you want to do what I want.”

“I don’t want you here,” I flashed back at him.

“Liar. You long for excitement. I can sense it in you. One day you’ll see that I am right.”

He stood up, blew me a kiss, and walked towards the door. As he did, I felt my lips burn.

“Next time I come, perhaps your handsome cat will be at home. I’m gutted I missed him; he always gives me such a welcome!”

“Get out!”

“Say hi to your mum and dad for me. Oh, it must get lonely for you living here with no brothers, or a sister to keep you company. What’s it like being an only child, Amelina. Lonely? At least you have your black cat to keep you company. You sure you aren’t a witch?”

And with that, he walked towards the door. I watched him go, his movements hurried, too swift for my eyes to keep up. With a twirl of swirling black fabric, he vanished like he’d done so often before, a tornado of uncanny other worlds.

My hands were shaking. I moved towards the mirror, knowing what I would see; the bruise on my lips inflamed again. He hadn’t even touched me, but the damage was there, plain to see.

I heard a faint sound. I made my way to the kitchen and saw that Shadow had come through the cat flap. He scurried towards me; his tail high in welcome. I stroked his sleek, black fur and he miaowed.

“Where’ve you been? You missed Ryder. If I’m not mistaken, he came to threaten me, not to apologise. I’m scared, Shadow.”

Shadow miaowed again, the gentle sound caressing my fears away. He stood up on his hind legs and wrapped his paws around my leg. I picked him up. “Aww, you never let me pick you up, Shadow, unless I need a cuddle. Thank you, gorgeous.”

He miaowed again.

“He called me a witch. Perhaps I am – a crystal witch. If I’m a witch, then you are my familiar, Shadow!”

PUZZLE PIECE 5

THE WITCHES’ SHOP

Come inside and see,

What appeals to you, my dears?

We’ve angels, crystals,

Multitude of witches’ treats,

Beckoning as you walk through!

After Ryder’s visit, I searched once again to try to find the missing Bloodstone. I grabbed my sheets, flung them back, and overturned drawers. Nothing. There was no sign of the Bloodstone anywhere. I groaned in distress but smothered the sound with my hands. I didn’t want Mum or Dad to hear me. Exhausted, I collapsed on my messy bed. My limbs moved restlessly, entangling in the bundle of sheets. My body felt tense, rigid, and desperate.

I opened my secret stash of magic hidden in my camphor-wood chest to give me reassurance. Inside were many precious, and much-loved, items including three of my most-prized magical possessions: my art set – a gift from my aunt Karissa – my crystals and drumsticks.

Recently I had turned 16 and had some birthday money, which I hadn’t spent yet, so a shopping trip with my friends Jade, Ilaria and Joselyn seemed like a great idea and a way to find some witchy magic to take my mind off the missing Bloodstone. I brushed aside the thought that Ryder was perhaps influencing me to a degree.

We met in the centre of Cambridge and rushed off to the popular shopping centres, The Grand Arcade and the Grafton Centre. I couldn’t find anything to buy until we stumbled upon a quaint little alcove. It wasn’t far from one of my favourite places: Miller’s music shop in King Street, Cambridge, but we didn’t go there today. Instead, we found an amazing shop located down this alleyway I’d never explored before. Looking at the shop window display, I felt unease creep up on me, remembering the conversation between Ryder and me. In the window, there were many witchcraft-related items – crystals, wands, tarot cards, and rune stones.

“Oh, look, a witches’ shop. Where has this den of witchy delight been hiding?” Jade’s eyes grew wide with curious fascination. “Let’s go inside!” Jade reattached a clasp to her long, jet-black hair. “Maybe they have spell books or potions to entice guys to fall in love with you!”

“Perfect! But even better, look at the tarot cards,” said Ilaria. She peered at herself reflected in the window next to all the witch paraphernalia. Her short, brown hair was cropped short and spiky, her eyes lined dark with mysterious eyeliner. If her style could speak, it would say: “Mischief!”