The Staff of Giltrow E-Book

Attie Dotinga

• Herausgeber: Falinn
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 251

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Thorston is attending an international school in Scotland. Thanks to the 'de Wit Foundation'. He has found a best friend in Jonas Falk since he arrived there. Jonas' father replaces the parents he no longer has on special days. Thorston only has memories of the homes he was in. The benefactor Mrs. de Wit invites him one day. Then he hears from Freya de Wit that she is looking for a magician who can save her granddaughter from a curse. He cannot help her. The only thing he knows about magic is the dream in which he always dies at the hands of a black magician. But that certainly does not exist in the normal world. Does it?

Leseprobe

The Giltrow Staff

by

Attie Dotinga

The Staff of Giltrow

Copyright © 2022

Cover photo: Sylvana Smit

Author: Attie Dotinga

Publisher: Falinn

NUR: 334

No part of this publication may be reproduced, by means of printing, photocopying, automated data files or in any other way without prior permission from the publisher.

Chapter 1

A searing pain tore through his entire body. It knocked the air out of his lungs. He gasped, feeling the blood dripping from his hands in time with the rhythm of his heartbeat.It felt warm.His legs suddenly gave out beneath him. He collapsed onto the hard ground. Another groan escaped his lips as the pain washed over him and completely took hold. It was so overwhelming that nothing else existed.He thought he couldn’t take it anymore—that he would explode.

But then, strangely, he felt calm.As if the pain faded into the background. A stillness settled over him. A feeling of complete surrender. He was surprised.A sudden sensation of floating overtook him. And then, he saw himself lying there.

He was surrounded by a pool of blood, his face pale as snow, his eyes lifeless—his soul clearly gone.He was dead.Something was pulling at him, and he turned to look.

A white, serene, radiant light seemed to call to him. It felt good, and he drifted toward it. He wanted to go.One last time, he looked back at his body—to say goodbye.

That’s when he saw the man, standing over him with a cruel grin.He turned back toward the scene. Free of pain, he could finally grasp what was happening.

It was Hagor, the warlock—the black sorcerer.

“Dead,” Hagor laughed loudly, clearly amused. He beckoned a minion, who shoved a young girl with beautiful almond-shaped eyes forward.She fell to her knees, horror flashing across her face as she saw the body.

“Glenn! Oh Glenn!”Her voice rang with despair, disbelief, panic, and an unbearable pain that struck him like a jolt through his soul.She wept heartbreakingly and threw herself over his lifeless body.

Hagor laughed again, this time with malicious delight.

“Your beloved mage is dead, sweetheart. He was no match for me. Maybe he should’ve known better!” He grabbed her roughly. “And now it’s your turn. Are you going to tell me where the Staff of Giltrow is?”

He yanked her away from Glenn’s body. All she could do was stare at the blood now smeared across her clothes and hands.She collapsed to her knees, trembling.

“Kill me too,” she pleaded. “Please, Hagor?”

For a moment, a flicker of surprise crossed the sorcerer’s face, but then he laughed once more.

“No, my dear, not yet. I’ll be happy to oblige—once you tell me where the staff is. You and your unborn child can join your lover, just as soon as the staff is mine.”

Raina looked up at him in shock. Her hand instinctively moved to her belly.Hagor noticed.

“You didn’t know you were pregnant? What a shame. Now you’ll never get to share the news with your precious Glenn.”His voice dripped with sarcasm.

He signaled two men. They grabbed Raina and dragged her away—down into the dungeons of the Scottish castle.

Hagor kicked Glenn’s body one last time and ordered it to be dumped somewhere.“Burying him would be a waste of time and energy,” he said.

Thorston jolted awake, filled with rage—the same as always after one of those dreams.It annoyed him how powerless he felt against that ridiculous sorcerer. He had been having the same dream every night since his sixteenth birthday. And no matter how many times it repeated, it still affected him deeply.

He got up just as someone knocked on the door, calling out that breakfast would be served in fifteen minutes.

Thorston muttered something about the warnings always coming too late and stepped into the shower.The water cleared his mind and washed away the weight of the dream.

That afternoon, he remembered, he had a meeting with Mrs. De Wit—an older woman who had lived in Scotland for most of her life, though she had Dutch roots.He wasn’t quite sure what the meeting was about. She was, in a way, his connection to the international boarding school he attended.

Her foundation had brought him to Scotland in the first place.

He quickly dried off, put on a pair of jeans, a sweater, and his shoes. Grabbing his keys, he headed downstairs.

From all directions, students rushed toward the dining hall, taking their seats.

“Thorston!”He looked up. A group of girls was trying to get his attention.

“You’ve got an admirer—again,” Jonas, his best friend, said with a grin.

Thorston raised an eyebrow. He still hadn’t gotten used to being considered attractive.To him, it was more of a nuisance—always leading to complications.

“Lara’s got her eye on you,” Jonas warned playfully.

“Yeah,” Thorston replied, though his mind was elsewhere.

“Where were you yesterday, anyway?” Jonas poured them both some coffee, eyeing him curiously.

“I had something personal to take care of.” Thorston kept it vague.

He couldn’t exactly tell him he’d sat for hours by the lake, trying to clear his mind.Jonas wouldn’t understand. Thorston barely understood it himself.

“I’ve got a meeting with Mrs. De Wit later,” he said.

Jonas raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“The old witch? What do you need from her?”

Thorston chuckled and took a cautious sip of his coffee.

“Hi.”Lara slid in beside him on the bench. She placed her hand suggestively on his thigh, gently squeezing, then slowly moved it upward.

Thorston grabbed her hand.“Don’t,” he said sharply. “Leave me alone.”

“You didn’t say that last week,” she whispered.

He met her gaze.Last weekend, after too many drinks at a party, he’d ended up in bed with her—ignoring his own principles once again.

“That was a one-time thing, Lara,” he muttered.

She smiled and stood up.

“That’s what you think,” she said, her tone heavy with meaning.

“If you play with fire, you’ll get burned,” Jonas laughed, watching her walk away.

“Thanks for the support,” Thorston muttered, finishing his coffee and making himself a sandwich.

An hour later, the dining hall had emptied out as students headed off to class, work, or internships.Thorston and Jonas were just walking down the long corridor when Thorston’s phone rang.

“Thorston,” he answered.

“Mr. Madson?” said a female voice on the other end.She didn’t sound very old.

“Yes?” Thorston was suddenly focused on the pleasant voice, trying to picture who it might belong to.

“Mrs. De Wit would like you to come an hour earlier than planned.”

Thorston glanced at his watch and agreed.

“Thank you, I’ll let her know.” A click, then the line went dead.

He stared at his phone thoughtfully. Something about that voice felt familiar.

“Who was that?” Jonas asked curiously.

“Someone letting me know my meeting with De Wit’s been moved up.”

Jonas noticed his friend’s distracted look.

“Do you know her?”

Thorston shook his head, though he still seemed distant.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Thorston muttered.He wasn’t about to admit that an unfamiliar voice had thrown him off balance.

“You think you’ll still make it to basketball practice if you leave now?” Jonas asked.

“I should,” Thorston replied, thinking it over. “The meeting won’t last three hours… even if I have to walk there.”

Jonas shrugged.

“You never know,” he muttered. “Old De Wit has a lot of influence. You’re only here because of her, right?”

Thorston nodded.It was true. Without her, he wouldn’t be at this international school in Scotland.Back in the Netherlands, he probably wouldn’t even have finished school.

The De Wit Foundation had recruited him—offering opportunities to kids who were struggling.He’d grabbed that chance with both hands.

But he had never actually met the benefactor herself.

And that made him curious.Curious about the woman responsible for his education—and his future.

“Thorston!” A lanky boy, about fourteen years old, his face peppered with pimples, came rushing up to him.“When’s the next extra basketball training?”

“Tomorrow evening,” Thorston replied. “Spread the word to the others.”

Thomas nodded eagerly, his face lighting up with a grin.Thorston knew the sessions were a much-needed outlet for him—a way to release all that pent-up frustration.Thomas came from a prestigious family, and the expectations that came with that had become a burden.The anger it stirred in him found release on the court—something Thorston understood all too well from personal experience.

“Great. See you tomorrow,” Thomas said, then took off running again.

Thorston watched him go.He remembered how rebellious and frustrated he had been when he was first assigned community duties. It had been part of his training—giving back to society.Only after he started coaching basketball for younger kids did he discover how much joy it brought, not only to them but also to himself.

Thorston glanced at Jonas.“I’m heading out. See you later. Can you sign me out if I don’t make it back in time for basketball?”

Jonas nodded and watched his best friend walk away.

Thorston covered the five-kilometer walk to Mrs. de Wit’s mansion at a brisk pace. He often hiked and climbed in nature and was in great shape.That healthy lifestyle sharply contrasted with the weekends he secretly went out partying and drank far too much.But in Thorston’s view, life was about balance.

He rang the bell at the gate and noticed a camera.Apparently, he was recognized—something buzzed and the gate opened on its own.He walked up the gravel path, the stones crunching under his shoes.The driveway ended in a half-circle, allowing cars to turn without needing to back up.

He climbed the stairs. The front door was already swinging open.It felt like stepping into another world—a 16th-century world, judging by the decor.He followed the man—clearly the butler—through the hallway in quiet awe. The entire situation felt surreal.

The butler opened a door and announced him before stepping aside. Thorston walked in.

In an old-fashioned armchair sat an elderly lady with shoulder-length snow-white hair.Her light grey eyes—his exact shade, a rare one—watched him with a curious, sharp gaze. It sparked his own curiosity.

“Thorston, have a seat,” she said warmly.She looked younger than he’d expected from the description of “old Mrs. de Wit.”

He sat on the couch across from her, warming his hands by the fire.

“I still need to thank you for making it possible for me to attend the International College,” he said. “And for helping me actually get an education.”

She nodded and smiled.

“You’re welcome. But to be honest, it was also partly out of self-interest,” she admitted, though she didn’t elaborate. Her gaze scanned him, as if searching for something.

“What do you actually remember about your parents, Thorston?” she asked suddenly, catching him off guard.

“Not much,” he replied.He told her how, one day, his parents simply never returned. Child Services had said they’d died in an accident, but he didn’t remember a funeral.From the age of ten, he’d been shuffled through foster homes. The invitation to the boarding school in Scotland had probably saved his life.

“At the very least, it put me on the right path—and kept me there,” he concluded.

Mrs. de Wit smiled.

“Have there ever been moments in your life when something happened that seemed impossible?”

Thorston hesitated, then looked at her.

“No,” he said curtly. He didn’t understand why she was asking and wasn’t about to tell her about his clairvoyant episodes—the strange moments when violent urges seemed to manifest into reality, and he could almost taste, feel, or hear what he desired most.

Her grey eyes studied him thoughtfully.

Suddenly, a picture frame fell from a shelf—and he caught it without even looking.

“Fast reflexes,” she said with a wide, amused smile.

He nodded.

“Just six more months until you graduate,” she said. “Then it’s time to leave the boarding school. What will you do afterward?”

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted.He had been asked if he wanted to become one of the school’s sports coaches.

“I would like you to come live here,” Mrs. de Wit said. “There are several other young adults living here, too.”

Thorston looked at her in surprise.

“What exactly would be expected of me?”He felt himself grow cautious. His senses heightened, as they always did when he felt something was off.

That’s why he sensed the butler coming with the coffee even before he appeared.

“Knowing what’s about to happen—that’s one of those strange things I was talking about,” Mrs. de Wit said with a knowing smile.

He was surprised by her insight, but said nothing. She gave him a patient smile in return.

“I understand your hesitation. Maybe you should meet the others first, before making a decision.”

He nodded, though in his mind he’d already decided he wouldn’t be staying here.Once he finished his coffee, the butler led him through the long corridor to the other side of the house, where loud music was playing.

And just like that, Thorston stepped back into the 21st century.

A large sectional sofa was set up on one side of the vast living room, in front of a massive fireplace.On the opposite side was another lounging area facing a giant screen.In the middle stood a big dining table near an open kitchen island. Floor-to-ceiling glass doors revealed a sprawling garden outside.

A few people sat on the leather couch by the fire—three young men and one young woman.

They looked up in surprise when he entered. The music volume was lowered.

“Ah, the new guy,” said a boy with spiky hair and light blue eyes.“I’m Bent,” he added, then pointed at a blonde guy with curls. “That’s Carson. And the tall one is Lasse.”

Thorston shook their hands, then turned toward the girl.She had red-blonde curls tied back in a ponytail, and her green eyes studied him intently.

He was struck by her bold gaze and the countless freckles on her face. He sat down next to her.

“I’m Ragna,” she said with a warm voice. “Freya de Wit is my grandmother.”

His grey eyes lingered on her. Those fiery curls looked irresistibly soft, and he found himself wondering what it would feel like to run his fingers through them.Her voice captivated him, and he suddenly realized she had been the one who called to reschedule their appointment—the voice that had nearly hypnotized him.

“You’re probably wondering why you’re here,” Carson said, snapping Thorston out of his trance.

“Are you going to tell him what my grandma wants?” Ragna asked, a little annoyed.

Carson raised his hands in mock surrender, got up, and moved to the sofa near the TV.The others followed. Thorston looked at Ragna questioningly.It seemed there was more to Mrs. de Wit’s request than he’d been told.

“My grandma hopes you can heal me,” she said with a deep sigh, as if she’d told this story too many times already.

“How could I possibly do that?” Thorston asked, genuinely surprised. “And what exactly is wrong?”

“I can’t use my legs anymore,” she replied. “My grandma’s been looking for a magician who can fix that.”

“You can’t walk?”

“No. I suddenly became paralyzed, and now she’s looking for someone with magical powers to cure me.”

“A magician?” Thorston looked at her, baffled.Her serious green eyes held his.

“Yes, a male witch,” she said, clearly irritated by his ignorance.But when she saw the shock on his face, she realized he’d never even heard of such a thing.

“My grandma must be pretty sure you’re one. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have offered you a place here,” she added.

Thorston stood up.“This is the craziest story I’ve ever heard,” he said. “You’re a beautiful girl and I hope you regain full movement—but healing through magic?”

He checked his watch and saw he was already too late for basketball training, even if he left right away and walked the full five kilometers back.

“This is all serious?” he asked, glancing at the others. They nodded.

“So you’re all magicians? Fine, show me something then.”He looked challengingly at the boys on the other couch.

Bent turned his palm upward—and a spinning ball of energy appeared in it.Carson waved his hand, and the mug on the table began to float.

Lasse reached out his hand toward Ragna, and the pin in her hair slipped free and flew into his palm.Her long red curls tumbled down to her shoulders in soft waves. Thorston stared at them, momentarily captivated.Then he looked at the others. “Am I supposed to do that too? Those magic tricks?”

“They're not magic tricks!” Ragna suddenly sat in a wheelchair he hadn't even noticed before. She rolled toward him.“That’s magic! You must have powers too—my grandmother is never wrong.”Her green eyes pleaded for his understanding. That was the only reason he didn’t burst out laughing.

He crouched down next to her so he could look her straight in the eyes.“If I had magical powers, would I be able to make you walk again? Isn’t that something for doctors to figure out?”He saw a flicker of sadness in the green of her eyes.“Doctors can’t do anything for me. They haven’t found anything wrong,” she said, meeting his gaze. “According to my grandmother, it’s a curse.”

Thorston studied her closely. It was strange that she actually believed that. Her expression was so serious.Maybe it was just something she clung to—something to help her accept her paralysis.“And this magician you’re all looking for… he can lift the curse?” he asked again.She nodded.

With a silent sigh, Thorston stood up from his crouch.He would’ve liked to help her, but this talk of a magician and a curse didn’t make any sense to him.“I’m sorry, Ragna, but I’m not the one you’re looking for,” he said.She nodded again. For a moment he thought he saw tears in her eyes, but when she looked back at him, there was no trace of them—only distance.

Thorston gave a small farewell nod and walked down the long corridor, which led him back into the sixteenth century.He found his way out on his own and looked back one last time before stepping through the door into the outside world. Strange place, that house.The cool air cleared his head.He walked down the driveway and through the gate to the winding road that led to the international boarding school.

Thoughts raced through his mind. People who actually believed in magic. He shook his head. How was that even possible? In the 21st century, no less.If they'd still been living in the era the house seemed to reflect, he could’ve understood it.But still believing in witches and sorcerers now?And yet… somewhere deep inside, something resonated.A faint thrill stirred in him. The idea triggered something emotional.

Thorston sighed deeply and quickened his pace to shake off the restlessness.Ragna’s green eyes haunted him.The unspoken plea he’d seen in them wouldn’t leave him. It had touched him deeply.But if doctors couldn’t find a reason why she couldn’t walk—what could he possibly do?Maybe he could help her let go of false hope and learn to live with her limitation?

Thorston sighed again. He probably wouldn’t see her again anyway, let alone talk to her.It was already getting dark. Lights flickered on in the distant cottages and farmhouses.

Thorston reached the crossroads—one way led to the school, the other toward the coast. He hesitated.Suddenly, a car approached. Loud music blasted from its open windows, announcing its arrival.Despite the cold, passengers leaned out and called his name.

Surprised, he looked up and recognized the group he’d often hung out with the previous summer.“Hey Thorston! What are you doing out here walking in the dark? Off to see your girl?”Flemming hung out of the window of the beat-up van. Thorston also recognized the driver—Esben.

“Thorstie!”Only one person ever called him that—Jussy.

Next to the blonde Jussy sat the dark-haired twin sisters Kari and Krista.They slid the side door open and beckoned him in.Thorston hesitated briefly, then climbed into the back seat.Someone handed him a plastic cup filled with whisky, and Jussy cozied up beside him.

He remembered it well.

They were heading toward the coast, which relaxed him.He needed a break—something completely different to get his mind off everything.To feel like he still lived in the real world. No magic. No strange people.The whole thing with that old house—it had been ridiculous.

Smiling, he took a sip of the whisky.

“What did that De Wit woman want from you?” Jonas asked at breakfast.Thorston groaned—his head was pounding.

Jonas gave him a curious look.“Don’t tell me you outdrank old Mrs. De Wit?”Thorston laughed.“No, the drinking came afterward,” he admitted and took a sip of his coffee.He gave Jonas a quick summary of the entire story. Jonas’s eyes widened.

“Magic?” he asked in disbelief. “Magic, like… real magic? And her granddaughter is waiting for the great sorcerer who’ll make her walk again? And you’re supposed to be that guy?”Jonas buttered a slice of bread and studied Thorston. Then he grinned.

“I told you that old De Wit was a witch.”Thorston smiled, but his mind wandered back to Ragna’s pleading green eyes.

Jonas caught the look. “Is she pretty?” he asked.“Who?” Thorston replied, confused.Jonas grinned. “The granddaughter.”

Thorston didn’t answer, because Lara had just walked up to them.“I heard you were with Jussy last night,” she said, eyeing him and taking a seat beside him.“Why do you go out with her and not me?” Her voice was jealous, almost possessive.

Thorston glanced at Jonas, whose look said, You’re in trouble now.“I ran into her and the others on the road,” Thorston said defensively. “Besides, I can choose who I hang out with, can’t I?”

“But we’re special together, aren’t we?” she said.Her eyes almost begged for reassurance.

“Lara, I—” he started, but she cut him off by pressing her lips to his.It caught him so off guard that he instinctively kissed her back.

Jonas threw his hands in the air—there was no saving him now.That girl would never understand that they weren’t in a relationship.

Thorston pulled away.Her blue eyes sparkled with triumph, as if she’d won.“Lara, about the other day—”But again, she didn’t let him finish. She gave him another kiss, smiled, and walked back to her friends.

“Man, you sure have the magic to get yourself into trouble,” Jonas muttered. “You’ve definitely got a gift.”

Thorston nodded. That he did.

He downed the last of his coffee and got up to head to Information Technology class.Today was programming, which genuinely interested him.Though sitting for too long wasn’t really his thing—he’d make up for it with sports later.

Jonas watched him walk away quickly.They had been friends for years, ever since they’d first met at school.Coincidence? Jonas wasn’t so sure anymore.

His father had insisted back then that he be especially kind to Thorston.Still, their bond had grown naturally—it now felt like they were brothers.

Maybe his dad had been right in picking his friends.He still asked about Thorston whenever Jonas visited home.Probably because he too had grown up without parents and had a hard life.

At family gatherings, his father always filled the role of Thorston’s missing parents.

Jonas’s thoughts were interrupted when May Britt appeared in front of him.Her beautiful blonde hair and dark eyes sparkled as she smiled.“Wake up, Jonas,” she said in her British accent. “Time for science lessons. You coming?”He nodded.

“Bronson, great how you're intercepting the ball—just keep an eye on the players around you!”

Thorston was laser-focused on the boys he was coaching during their extra basketball session.Supper was at half past five.Then came an hour of study time, where teachers were available for help.After that, it was time for an activity—usually sports. Everyone had to be indoors by nine.

Twice a week, Thorston trained a group of boys who weren’t skilled enough to play on the official school team,but wanted to improve nonetheless.

Bronson’s strength was also his weakness.He could run like no other, but lost awareness of his surroundings.That made him a loose cannon on the court.

Thorston tossed the ball into the group, and sure enough, Bronson got it again.Like a tornado, he charged toward the basket, knocked Jason over, and scored once more.

Everyone cheered, but Thorston noticed Jason lying on the ground, his face pale and contorted in pain. He rushed toward him.Jason’s left arm was twisted in an odd, unnatural way. Thorston was certain it was broken.“I’m in so much pain,” Jason whimpered, his blue eyes pleading with Thorston for help. The others quickly gathered around, shocked and concerned.Thorston sent Barry sprinting back to school to fetch the doctor.He gently placed a reassuring hand on Jason’s shoulder.“You’re going to be okay,” he promised.But Jason cried out loudly, not just from the pain, but also from the fear that he might never be able to play the trumpet in the school orchestra again.Thorston could almost feel Jason’s fear and sorrow. He wished with all his heart that he could do something to help.Suddenly, the hand resting on Jason’s shoulder began to warm—intensely so. Acting on instinct, Thorston placed his other hand on Jason’s injured wrist.That hand, too, began to glow. A pulse of energy flowed through him—something Jason didn’t seem to notice, but Thorston felt it intensely. It was nearly painful.Then, all at once, Jason moved his injured arm, and Thorston heard a soft click. Jason stopped crying.By the time the doctor arrived, he could only confirm a severe bruise.Everyone was relieved, but Thorston was stunned.

He looked down at his hands—the heat had vanished.He was certain Jason’s arm had been broken.And that heat—whatever had flowed from his hands—had something to do with the healing. That much he knew. But he had no idea how or why.Thorston was the last to leave the field, trying to dismiss the whole incident as a misjudgment on his part.But in the locker room, he overheard the boys still talking in the showers about the strange angle Jason’s arm had been in.They decided Jason must be unusually flexible to come away with just a bruise—and left it at that.Thorston cleaned up the locker room and dried the showers.He locked the door behind him, his footsteps echoing in the hallway. He turned off the corridor light, and as he turned around, he almost walked straight into Lara.“What are you doing here?” he asked, startled. He had been so lost in thought he hadn’t heard her approach.She smiled. “I missed you.”Suddenly, she kissed him and wrapped her arms around his neck.But he pulled away, holding her hands.“Don’t, Lara,” he said, letting go of her.He was still too shaken by what had happened on the basketball court. He wasn’t in the mood for any drama—and with Lara, there always seemed to be drama.“But we had something good, didn’t we?” she pouted.“We had, Lara. Had is the right word.” He looked at her, annoyed. “What do you think would happen if someone caught us here?”“Who would find out?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.But Thorston guided her down the hallway and out of the building, locking the door behind them.Lara stormed off in anger. He watched her go for a moment.His own anger was building, too—but it had nothing to do with Lara. It was the same fury he always felt when he woke from that recurring dream, the one where he died as Glenn.Thorston spotted a basketball he had forgotten to put away.As he threw it with all his strength, a tremendous energy surged through him. The ball disappeared into the distance without ever touching the ground.A strange jolt ran through his body, like a current of electricity. Every muscle was tense, as if he had just witnessed something traumatic and was still overwhelmed by the stress.Maybe healing Jason’s arm had been just as stressful—if not more so—for his body. Certainly for his mind.Thorston crouched down, trying to shake off the feeling. He rested his head in his hands.Then, suddenly, it started pouring rain.Oddly enough, it felt good—as if the excess energy inside him was being grounded by the downpour.He stood up and, for a split second, thought he saw Ragna in her wheelchair in the middle of the field. But when he blinked, she was gone.He shook his head. With all the rain, visibility was low anyway.He made his way to the main building and slipped in through the back entrance.He left a trail of water behind him, but luckily he wasn’t the only one caught in the storm.Thorston returned to his room and took a hot shower.The warmth helped calm him, though the scene with Jason’s arm kept replaying in his mind. Even the superhuman throw he’d made with the basketball played over and over in his head.There was no logical explanation.Then he remembered something from long ago—something strange he had never quite been able to explain.As a little boy, he had once healed the leg of a dog that had been hit by a car.It had belonged to his kind teacher.He had felt the same warmth in his hands back then.And there were other memories, too—of moments when he somehow knew what was going to happen. Times when he had warned classmates just before an accident nearly occurred.Maybe Ms. De Wit had been right to ask questions about the strange things in his life.But magic?He looked down at his hands. Magic? That didn’t exist.Call it what you will—it was probably just coincidence.Thorston turned off the tap and dried himself.Wrapped in a towel, he walked to his closet.Suddenly, a burning sensation flared in his chest, spreading to his abdomen and legs, rising into his arms and hands and finally to his head, tingling at the crown.Dizzy, he sat down on the edge of his bed.The world spun around him. What was happening to him?Eventually, the feeling subsided.