Of Time & Spells
Page 17
Tossing one of my many Fear Street Saga novels into the box on my bed, I flipped off the light behind me and darted down the stairs. I raced through the house, turning off lights as I went, and quickly grabbed my coat from the back of the couch before bolting out the front door. Something caught my eye the moment I pulled the door open—a black envelope resting in the center of the worn-out welcome mat.
Bending at the knee to pick it up, I glanced around, searching for whomever had left it. A cool breeze blew, rustling the fallen leaves and making the bushy evergreen trees in the front yard wave and sway. There was no one there, at least not that I could see.
Chewing along the inside of my cheek, I eyed the envelope in my hand. My name had been written in thick red letters along the front. To anyone else, this would have been the most bizarre thing ever to happen to him or her. For me though, it wasn’t. The handwriting had been all I needed to know who the letter had come from. How she’d managed to set it on the doorstep without me hearing her car pull up was beyond me though.
The letter was from my absentee mother, Mara Valmont.
Usually I received gifts and cards from her on birthdays and holidays, a random envelope delivered just because, however, was a rarity. Silently, I wondered what the occasion was. Had I missed a holiday? Halloween was Saturday. Did that count? Or had she heard of my father’s passing and decided to console me in the form of a letter?
Flipping the envelope over, I debated whether I should open it. Did I really care what she had to say in regards to my father’s passing? Had she even known about his cancer? I wasn’t sure if the two of them had remained in contact after she left when I was five. My father never talked about her, except when I asked him to. Over the years, my asking had become nonexistent simply because I’d vowed not to care about her, mimicking the way she so blatantly didn’t give a shit about me. Remembering my birthday and sending something every holiday didn’t make her a mother.
Not in my book.
Biting my bottom lip, I stared at the envelope. Curiosity would eat at me until I opened it, but I wasn’t sure I could handle a sob letter from her. If that’s even what it was.
Pursing my lips together into a thin line, I tapped the coarse-papered envelope against the palm of my hand repeatedly. God, this was a moment my dad would say his famous motto with a large shit-eating grin. I could picture it clearly in my mind’s eye. The way his lips would twist at the corners as he locked eyes with me and said, “Choose your own adventure, sweetheart.” Then, he would toss his hands up in surrender.
“Screw it,” I muttered, and flipped the envelope over. “I’ll just open the damn thing.”
Sliding my nail along the top, I cut it open. Reaching in, I pulled out a thick piece of paper, which was roughly the size and feel of a postcard, and read my mother’s message.
The time has come, my sweet girl, for you to find out who you really are.
The Kiss of Awakening is upon you.
Love, Mom
Attached with the postcard was a plane ticket stamped for New Orleans. Skimming over the ticket, I noticed the departure time was for tomorrow night at seven. My eyes dipped back to the postcard. Arching an eyebrow, I stared at the blood red letters, wondering what my mother had meant. An eerie sensation slipped along my spin as I reread her first sentence. What I really was? What the hell did that mean? Flipping the card over, I noticed more writing.
New Orleans, The Bourbon Orleans Hotel
I was completely confused. Apparently Google was about to be my best friend, because that was the only thing that popped into my head next—how I was going to Google the heck out of that place in search of some answers.
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Acknowledgments
My family—thank you for continuing to cheer me on. All of your support means the world to me. You keep me motivated and help me to celebrate the milestones throughout the process of crafting a novel. I need to insert a special thank you here that goes to my son, Aaron. He’s the one who came up with the idea of the mirror and Tristan’s reflection being his dragon form. I was stuck way back in book one of this series, struggling to decide what the dragon magic should be trapped in. My son said a mirror. We talked about how cool it would be. And there you have it.
My team—thank you to my editor Dani, my proofreader Nicole, and my Snyder’s Sidekick group who never fail to help me spread the word when it comes to my novels.
To my readers—thank you so much for seeing Piper’s story through to the end. I hope you’ve enjoyed this magical journey between witches and dragons.
Until next time…
About the Author
Jennifer Snyder lives in North Carolina where she spends most of her time writing New Adult and Young Adult Fiction, reading, and struggling to stay on top of housework. She is a tea lover with an obsession for Post-it notes and smooth writing pens. Jennifer lives with her husband and two children, who endure listening to songs that spur inspiration on repeat and tolerate her love for all paranormal, teenage-targeted TV shows.
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