Moon Spun

by Marilee Brothers

  “Show off!” I yelled.

  Ryker stood and pulled me to my feet. We exchanged high fives as if we’d been responsible for the exchange. “Someday you will learn to trust me,” he said.

  “Some day.” Trust was hard for me.

  The mortal Chad Hostetler ran to me and threw his arms around my waist. “Allie! Allie! You promised we could build a fire and roast marshmallows. Can Ryker come?

  What about the tent? Are we still going to sleep outside? Huh? Huh?”

  I smiled down at him. Some things never change.

  390

  Chapter Thirty Five

  The next night, Thursday, I told Faye I had something important to tell her. Once again, my stomach was swarming with butterflies. She plopped down on the chair. “So, what’s the big news?”

  I took a big breath and dove in. “It’s about your mother.”

  Faye frowned. “What about her?”

  “She’s not dead. She’s coming to see you tonight.”

  Faye crossed her arms and shook her head. “Allie. We’ve already covered this ground. She died when I was ten.”

  “Just listen, okay? Don’t say a word.”

  I started by telling her about my first trip to Boundless, how I’d met Melia. I could tell she didn’t believe a word I was saying. She didn’t interrupt, but her gaze was flinty and suspicious. She crossed her legs and starting swinging one foot. Back and forth. Back and forth. It’s what Faye did when she was bored. I pressed on.

  When I got to the part about Uncle Davey, a strange thing happened. She jerked to attention and gave me a puzzled look. Then, her lips curved into a smile and her eyes lit up. “You saw Uncle Davey?”

  “Yes. Do you know him?” My voice was squeaky with surprise.

  Faye nodded. She had a faraway look in her eyes, as if some lost memory had just bobbed to the surface. “I remember riding on his back.” Her smile faded away and her brows drew together. “It’s weird. I’d forgotten all about Uncle Davey.”

  I held my tongue while she mulled it over. Finally, she held up a hand. “Let’s back this bus up. If you met Uncle Davey, does that mean what you’re saying is true? That my mother really is alive?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Well, duh. Maybe you should have believed me the first time around.”

  It got easier then. Faye listened intently as I described my adventures in Boundless, taking care to give her the G rated version. No mention of bloody wounds, spit burns and pixie-eating blurkers. By the time I finished, it sounded like I’d been on a dream vacation to Disneyland.

  “Melia will be here soon. Out by the cistern. Do you want me to go with you?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”

  When it was time, she marched out the door like a soldier off to battle. The phone rang as she went down the steps. She didn’t hesitate She didn’t even look back. It was Beck.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey, yourself.” I could hear him breathing. I waited.

  He said, “I miss you. You still mad?”

  “I’m not mad.” As I said the words, I realized they were true. “How’s the healing coming along?”

  “She’s doing better. It takes time. But, I guess you know that.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  Silence hung in the air between us. I sensed he was trying to come up with the right words. When he spoke, his voice was choked with tears. “Allie,” he whispered.

  The pain in that single word spanned the miles between us and grabbed my heart. All I wanted to do was make him feel better.

  I said, “Guess what? You were right about Chad. Actually, you were right about me too, you 391

  know, the whole faery thing?”

  He cleared his throat. “So Allie Emerson is admitting I was right about something?”

  The tension between us disappeared as I related the whole story: Chad, Ryker, my trips to Boundless. I told him everything except about the promise I’d made to Luminata.

  “Wow.” Beck sounded wistful. “Will you take me with you next time?”

  I laughed. “It will be a while before I go back.” Like eight years. Note to self: good old half-demon Beck might prove helpful in Boundless.

  Before we hung up, Beck said, “I’ll call you soon.”

  I waited a beat before adding, “Friends?”

  “Yeah, friends,” he agreed.

  I wandered over to the dinette to wait for Faye. After shredding a napkin into a bajillion pieces, I glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes had passed. At the half-hour mark, I had to grip the edge of the table to keep from bounding out the door and busting into their mother/daughter reunion. It was a full hour before I saw the top of Faye’s head as she passed by the window. I snatched up my book. When she came through the door, I pretended to be absorbed in my reading. Her hand came over my shoulder. She plucked the book out of my hand and turned it right side up. “Easier to read that way.”

  Faye sat opposite me and stared out the open window at the night sky. I studied her expression for clues. Her face was pale, but I saw no tearstains. Her eyes, a luminous blue, had deep shadows beneath them. I tried to figure out what she was feeling. Suddenly, I got scared. Had I made a horrible mistake thinking Faye needed to be re-united with her mother? I squirmed in my seat, waiting for her to say something. Finally, I couldn’t stand it. “How did it go?”

  She turned away from the window and put her hand over mine. The softness in her eyes made me want to cry. “You did this for me, didn’t you?”

  I shrugged like it was nothing. “You needed to know the truth, that’s all.”

  “Melia told me what you did. She said you’re the bravest girl she’s ever met.”

  Her voice caught and tears started to flow. “Here’s the hard part. She gave me credit. She said it was because I was such a good mother that you turned out so well.

  Isn’t that a hoot?”

  I put my other hand over the top of hers. “After what Grandpa Claude did, I thought you should know your mother was okay. Maybe you’d be happier. Well, maybe not happy, but less . . . ” I was about to say “miserable,” but Faye broke in.

  “Screwed up?”

  Unable to speak, I just shook my head.

  Suddenly Faye stood. She folded her arms and stared down at me, like she was trying to make up her mind about something. “You need to know the truth too.”

  Puzzled, I asked, “About what?”

  “The rift between my father and me has nothing to do with Melia. It was never about Melia.”

  When I thought about all I’d been through to get Faye and her mother together, I felt a little sick. Had it all been for nothing?

  My feelings must have been obvious. Faye sat next to me and stroked my hair. “It isn’t your job to make me feel better, Allie. I have to do that on my own.”

  Unable to trust my voice, I nodded.

  Faye said, “It was wonderful to see my mother again. It filled one of the empty places in my heart.”

  “Just one?”

  She bit her lip and whispered, “The other one is bigger. It’s been growing since the day you were 392

  born.”

  I caught my breath. “Oh my God, am I a changeling?”

  Faye smiled. “No, you are most definitely not a changeling.”

  “Then, what? Tell me!”

  “It’s a long story, Allie. I’m tired.” She stood and kissed the top of my head. “Thank you for what you did for me. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Biting my lip in exasperation, I watched as Faye retreated to the back of the trailer and closed the sliding door. She was all done talking. I shrugged and picked up my book. No sense wasting my breath. Whatever her big secret was, she’d kept it for sixteen years. I could wait one more day. When I heard the high-pitched call of a red-tailed hawk, I set my book down and peered through the window. He flew in lazy circles over the pasture, backlit by a crescent moon. As I watched, he began to drop down. Lower and lower. Then, he wheeled, dipped a w
ing and swooped by the window. Ryker was telling me goodbye.

  Before I could lift a hand to wave, I saw a flash of green. Was it . . .? Yes! It was Chad in his new faery form, hovering outside the window, his frilly wings flapping like crazy. He wore a huge smile and very little else. Extending one long, thin finger, he drew a big, glittering heart on the glass, blew me a kiss and darted away.

  Smiling, I watched until Ryker and Chad disappeared into the night sky, swallowed up by darkness. I pressed my palm against the glass and whispered, “Catch a moonbeam, guys. You know where to find me.”

  I stepped into the bathroom to brush my teeth. That’s when I spotted the paper Faye had slipped beneath the door. I sat on my bed and scanned it quickly. The paper was creased with age and the words blurry, as if they’d been smudged by tears. Written in Faye’s hand, it was a quotation by someone named Kalil Gibran.

  You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore . . . but let there be spaces in your togetherness. And let the winds of heaven dance between you.

  The line, “let there be spaces in your togetherness,” had been underscored so many times, the pencil point had torn the paper.

  My first instinct was to pound on Faye’s door, demand answers to my questions. But then, I remembered what she’d said. “It was never about Melia.” I thought about the empty place in Faye’s heart, how it was growing bigger every day. The hole she’d been unable to fill with bad relationships and booze. Something terrible had happened to Faye sixteen years ago. Something that involved Grandpa Claude.

  I stared at the words, “You were born together and together you shall be forevermore,” until my eyes burned. Born together. Spaces in your togetherness.

  In my mind, there was only one possible explanation for those particular words. I turned out the light and gazed at the moon through the faery-dusted heart, wondering if I’d reached the right conclusion. Was it possible, despite “the winds of heaven dancing between us,” somewhere in this big, wide world, I had a twin?

  393

  Where It All Began . . .

  Moonstone

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  One minute, I was on a ten-foot ladder adjusting the TV antenna on the twenty-four-foot trailer behind Uncle Sid’s house, where I lived with my mother, Faye. The next minute, I sailed off the ladder, grazed an electric fence and landed face down in a cow pie. Swear to God.

  Though groggy and hurting, I rolled onto my back. A window in the trailer cranked open and I heard my mother scream. “Allie! Ohmigod! Somebody call 911!”

  I was surprised Faye managed to open the window. She’d spent most of the last two years in bed since, at age thirty one, she Retired From Life. But really, call 911?

  We had no phone and I was the only other person in the area. Who was she talking to? Blaster the bull? I smiled weakly at the thought of Blaster in a phone booth, punching in 911 with one gigantic hoof. Okay, technically, I landed in a bull pie, not a cow pie. The mess dripping off my face was compliments of my Uncle Sid’s prize bull, speaking of which . . .

  It was then my wits returned. I felt the ground vibrate, heard the rumble of hooves. I reared up to see a half-ton cranky bull racing toward me, head down, mean little eyes fixed on my prone body. Faye continued to scream shrilly. I moaned and crawled toward the fence, looking over my shoulder at Blaster who bore down on me like a runaway train. When I tried to stand, I slipped in the wet grass and landed on my belly. Oh God, he was just inches away. I wasn’t going to make it! I rolled into a ball and screamed, “No, Blaster! Go back! Go back!”

  Laying on the wet grass, trembling with terror, I watched as Blaster stopped on a dime, blew snot out of his flaring, black nostrils and released a thunderous blast of flatulence—that’s what my teacher, Mrs. Burke, calls farting—and, of course, is the reason Uncle Sid named him Blaster.

  “Back off, Blaster,” I said between shallow, panicky breaths. “Good boy.”

  I hoped the “boy” comment wouldn’t tick him off, what with his fully-developed manly-bull parts dangling in full view as I lay curled on the ground looking up. Yuck!

  Suddenly my vision narrowed and grew dark around the edges. It was like looking down a long tunnel with Blaster front and center, bathed in light. A loud buzzing filled my head. The next moment, Blaster took a tentative step backward, then another, walking slowly, at first, then gradually picking up speed until he was trotting briskly backwards like a video tape on slow rewind. Mesmerized by the sight, I sat up and watched Blaster’s bizarre retreat back through the tunnel. At that precise moment, I should have known something strange was going on. But hey, I was a little busy trying to save my life.

  As I crawled under the fence, my vision returned to normal and the buzzing faded away. I stood and swiped a hand across my sweaty face. At least, I thought it was sweat until a trickle of blood dripped off the end of my nose. Surprised because I felt no pain, I touched my face and found the 394

  blood was oozing from a puncture wound in the center of my forehead. I glanced up at Faye, who continued to peer out the trailer window, her pale face framed in a halo of wispy blond curls, her eyes wide with shock. She inhaled sharply, and I knew another scream was on its way. I held up a hand. “Come on, Faye, no more screaming. You’re making my head hurt.”

  “But, but, the bull . . . he, he . . . ” Faye began.

  I wasn’t ready to go there. “I know, I know.”

  I staggered around the end of the trailer and banged through the door. Two giant steps to the bathroom. I shucked off my clothes and stepped into the tiny shower.

  “You okay, Allie?” Faye asked.

  She peered through the open doorway, paler than usual. Her right hand clutched the locket that held my baby picture, the one that makes me look like an angry old man. The only time she took it off was to shower.

  “I’ll live,” I muttered.

  “Weird, huh? Blaster, I mean. I heard you yell at him. Bulls don’t run backward, Allie.”

  When I didn’t answer—what could I say?—she waited a beat. “Use soap on your forehead. Did it stop bleeding?”

  “Yes, Mother.” I reached over and slid the door shut.

  Deep sigh. “You don’t have to be snotty. I told you to be careful.”

  The TV blared suddenly. Oprah. Not that I’m a spiteful person, but I blamed Oprah for my swan dive off the ladder. Late last night, a sudden gust of wind knocked over our TV antenna. When I got home from school today, Faye insisted she had to watch Oprah. Like that was going to change her life. I finally got tired of hearing about it and borrowed Uncle Sid’s ladder. Moral of story: Never wear flip flops on an aluminum ladder.

  I turned on the water, stood under the weak stream and checked for damage. Other than a slight tingling in my arms and legs and the hole in my head, I seemed okay. I toweled off my curly, dark-brown hair and pulled it back into a messy ponytail. When I wiped the steam off the mirror, I saw a dark-red, dime-sized circle the size in the exact center of my forehead. I touched it gingerly, expecting it to hurt. But it didn’t. Instead, a weird sensation shot through my head, like my brain was hooked up to Dr.

  Frankenstein’s machine, that thing he used to make his monster come alive. I must have given a little yip of surprise because Faye said again, “You okay, Allie?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Just a little sore.”

  “Did you check the mail?”

  “The first’s not until Friday. Today’s the twenty-ninth,” I said.

  “Sometimes it comes early.”

  The welfare check never came early. The state of Washington was very reliable when it came to issuing checks.

  “Yeah, okay,” I said, not wanting to burst her bubble.

  Wrapped in the towel, I took two steps into the living room/kitchen, reached under the table and pulled out the plastic crate containing my clean clothes. I dug around and found clean underwear, a tee shirt and a pair of cut-off shorts.

  I slipped into my bra, once
again thinking how cool it was I finally needed one. Though I hoped for peaches, I’d managed only to grow a pair of breasts roughly the size and shape of apricots. Oh, well, apricots are better than cherries. Our valley is called “The fruit bowl of the nation,” hence, my obsession with naming body parts after produce.

  I slipped into my treacherous flip flops, headed out the door and spotted Uncle Sid darting 395

  behind the barn. Faye says Uncle Sid is not a people person but I thought he was just trying to avoid Aunt Sandra and her constant nagging. That woman’s voice could make a corpse sit up and beg or mercy.

  I trotted down the driveway, stopping suddenly when I spotted a pair of denim-clad legs sticking out from under the Jeep Wrangler parked next to Uncle Sid’s house.

  Legs that belonged to Matt, Uncle Sid’s son and older brother to spoiled brat, Tiffany.

  How can one kid—Tiffany—be so annoying and the other—Matt—so totally hot? I tried to avoid Matt because of the way I got when I’m around him. Though I’m normally loquacious (last Wednesday’s vocabulary word that I copied and vowed to use at least three times,) one look at Matt and I lost my power of speech. My jaw dropped and my mouth went dry. There’s just something about him—sleepy blue eyes, light brown hair that usually needs combing, a crooked grin and a sculpted, rock-hard body.

  It wasn’t some creepy, incestuous thing since Matt and I weren’t real cousins. Sid was Faye’s step brother. Nope, we didn’t have the same blood coursing through our veins. Matt’s was probably blue, while mine came from the mystery man Faye refused to talk about.

  I tiptoed past the Jeep to spare myself further humiliation. I’d almost made it when he rolled out on one of those sled thingies and grabbed my ankle. “Hey, kid, how ya doin’?”

  The warmth of his hand against my bare skin turned my normally frisky brain cells to mush. Sure enough, my lower jaw was heading south. “Uh, just great, Matt,” I said, averting my eyes and licking my suddenly parched lips.