by Julie Wright
I couldn’t go out with Jake in good conscience while Kristin was still stuck at home. The thunder rolled outside and lightning brightened the room briefly as I snagged the troll off the dresser and dropped, fully-clothed, down on my bed. Sleep hit me before my head hit the pillow.
Chapter Thirteen
Note to self:
Some guys don’t like losing to a girl. But girls don’t like losing to anyone.
The sleep had been wonderful. Farmor woke me up with enough time to get ready. I stretched and swung my legs over the side of my bed again, pushing myself up and off. “I need a shower. I feel gross. Are my parents up yet?”
“Not yet. Though Robison is home and seemed delighted to see everyone here even if they all are sleeping like the dead. He had questions.”
“I’ll bet. What did you tell him?”
She sighed. “I had to delve him. I hate doing that to my own grandson.”
“Delve?” Delve sounded bad.
“Check his fortitude. If he couldn’t handle the truth and the need for secrecy, then I would have had to make him forget everything that had happened to him, and we would not be allowed to inform him of your new . . . condition.”
I dug around in my closet for something to wear. “So, how’s his fortitude?”
“Solid. I was surprised. He made the vow of secrecy and seems to take it seriously. He has a great capacity for accepting the unusual and has no fear as much as he does fascination.”
“It’s all those video games he plays,” I said, finally seeing what I wanted in my closet.
She peered over my shoulder as I pulled two different shirts off the hangers: a black one with flared princess sleeves and a dark burgundy with a sheer black scarf.
Farmor laughed in my ear, but the noise sounded sad rather than happy.
“What?” I asked. “These are my two favorites.”
“It’s just that . . . Even after all these generations, you have so much of her in you.”
“Her?” I faced Farmor, dragging the two shirts out of the closet with me.
Farmor waved her hand in front of her and an image of the dark-haired woman from before materialized. At first, I saw no resemblance, but after watching her, a familiarity pinged in my chest—that shape of nose, the cheekbones—high and well defined, even the shape of her eyebrows were like mine. Her hair hung in ringlets down her back. Her black floor-length dress had flared sleeves much like the shirt I held in my hand. She held a thin book and looked up from its pages as though we’d disturbed her reading. Her eyes were ice blue, like Dad’s, like mine. She sighed deeply, her face fixed in a frown, and she returned her focus to her book, turning her back on us.
“She is Britta Astrid, your link to the Troll King’s power. She is the woman who first entered the cave and brought power to the female line of your family. She is the first of our kind.”
I moved closer to her to see into her eyes, glowing bright blue like pulsing lightning. She didn’t look up or notice me at all. “The first,” I whispered. She was beautiful. She looked strong with her straight back and shoulders, her mouth firm as if she’d made a decision that she wouldn’t back down from. I didn’t know anything about her aside from the fact that she was daring enough to go into a troll’s cave and steal their magic, but after seeing her like this, with so much determination and inner strength, I wanted to be just like her.
“She’s . . . she does look a little like me, I guess, except the hair, and her chin is longer than mine.”
“You have the same style.” Farmor pointed to my shirt, and then to the top part of the woman’s dress, which were unarguably similar. It gave me some odd sense of attachment to find I had the style of this woman who looked like she could conquer armies with one glance.
“Can she see us? Can she hear us? Does she even know we’re here with her?”
“No, of course not. This is the shadow she cast on the earth during her mortality, or an echo of her life. Shadows can be conjured at any time for viewing, but cannot be acted upon, nor can they act upon the realm of reality as they are not reality. Shadows are what trail behind us—memories that cannot be changed, nothing more.”
Farmor waved her hand again, and the image dropped to the floor in another rainfall of misty color before disappearing altogether into the fibers of my carpet.
“I saw that other girl—the blonde one—the other night when I was in the yard.”
Farmor frowned. “In your yard?”
I nodded. “She told me I wasn’t strong enough to handle the power. She said I could give it back to the stones.”
Farmor grabbed my shoulders. “Are you certain? The white-haired girl?”
I nodded, freaked to see Farmor so freaked, and suddenly felt glad I told her. “So this is important?”
“She told you to put the power back into the stones?”
I nodded again. “She said I couldn’t handle it. That it would scour my bones or something.”
Farmor released my shoulders. “You should prepare for your date. I have messages to send.” She turned to leave.
“Farmor? What does she have to do with me?”
She glanced back and shook her head. “I don’t know. You couldn’t have seen anything more than the shadow, but the shadow should not have been able to communicate with you. This is something new. Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out. Go get ready.”
I nodded, though I did worry a little bit. The worry didn’t last long though because Farmor had said she’d take care of it, and I trusted her. And, honestly, I had a date with Jake Warren. Everything took second place to that. After seeing Britta’s image, I settled on the black shirt with the flared sleeves. I would look like Britta tonight.
Jake . . . My heart fluttered at the thought of him. I ran my tongue over my teeth and grunted. Definitely needed to get cleaned up before he rang the doorbell.
I showered, dressed, put up my hair, did my makeup, and brushed my teeth twice—all before six. I went to my mom’s room to let her know I was going out, but she snored loud and solid. I’d have better luck waking up a corpse.
The same situation existed with Dad. Cinders had curled up on his chest to take a nap with him. I shooed her off. “Robison!” I scolded my brother who was watching TV again.
“What?”
“What are you doing letting Cinders in here? You know Dad’s allergic to cats.”
He chuckled. “I know, right? He’s been sneezing in his sleep. It’s hilarious.”
“Rob!” But I cracked a smile too. He and Dad were always pranking each other. Introducing allergens while sleeping was just a new tactic added to their favorite game. “Well played, Sob-Rob.” I ruffled Robison’s hair and went back to my room to tell Farmor what kind of message to give to my parents and to grab the wishing troll. Farmor said my wishing disability would last until Halloween. I didn’t want any mishaps on my date.
I felt immense pity for any Troll Kvinna-witch who happened to be unlucky enough to have a birthday in November. She’d be stuck with the wishing problem for almost a whole year. Who would want to carry an ugly little troll figurine for almost a whole year—especially when the stupid thing burned every time it made contact with bare skin?
I felt tormented enough to have dealt with this for less than a week.
Farmor nodded her approval when she realized I’d pocketed the troll. “Thank you,” she said.
“Thanks for what?” I stretched around behind me to close the clasp on my necklace.
“Thank you for not making me remind you. It is a relief to know you take my advice seriously.”
“After everything that’s happened, I’d be kind of stupid not to.”
She smiled. “So many start out not being serious, in spite of the problems they cause during the wishing cycle. You are a credit to your family, Allyson. A credit to me. Thank you.”
I hugged her. She was thanking me? She’d been the one who’d jumped in and saved me from myself. And I hadn’t acted very grateful t
o her for her help. Instead I’d blamed her and acted stupid.
“Find out anything about my white-haired visitor?” I asked.
She steepled her hands in front of her and smiled. “It had to be a shadow—a memory you managed to tap into. It wasn’t a message for you personally. It was probably the shadow cast when she told Britta to put the power back. It was just an echo.”
“Why would she tell Britta to do that?” I asked, feeling relieved that I’d only witnessed an echo from something long ago, rather than received a visit from a long-dead witch. Though it sure had felt personal at the time.
“Her name was Elva. Her daughter had inherited the power, but no one knew about the wishing period until her daughter accidentally wished someone dead. When Elva’s daughter realized what she’d done, she flung herself off a cliff—unable to bear the burden of guilt. Elva was wildly opposed to the power after that.”
My mouth hung open. “Oh, wow. I guess! I’d have a come apart, too, if that happened to one of my daughters.”
“So you see the reason for the vows? They keep us from those sorts of mistakes.”
“Totally makes sense.” I saluted. “You don’t have to worry about me. I don’t want to make any more mistakes.”
The doorbell rang. I grinned at Farmor and let out a little squeal. Jake Warren was at my front door picking me up!
I hurried down the stairs, stopping short when I found Robison already there letting Jake in. I glanced into the dining room to check that it was totally cleared of all of Farmor’s magical mementos. All clear. Relief.
“What are you doing here?” Robison asked, looking behind Jake. I assumed he was checking for Heather. Why else would someone like Jake come to my house except to drop off his little sister for a playdate?
Before Robison voiced any of this to Jake and make me look lamer than I already felt, I shoved him aside. “Hi, Jake.” Did I say his name with a sigh?
Probably.
He looked amazing. He always looked amazing.
“Hey, Ally. How’s your grandma doing?”
“I’m fine. Thank you,” Farmor answered from the stairs. “Make sure to thank your mother for taking Robison. It was very generous of her.”
Jake smiled, and I melted. Seriously. So. Attractive.
“He isn’t any trouble,” Jake said, though he leaned over and poked Robison in the shoulder. “Unless you have to wake him up for school.”
“Bye Farmor! Tell Mom and Dad I’ll be home later.” I tried to turn Jake to the door so we could leave, but he had planted his feet and wouldn’t budge. It was then that I noticed he had a square box under his arm. Had he brought me a present?
He held the box out to me and said, “I thought we could stay here to play.”
“Play?” I looked down at the box. It wasn’t chocolates. It was a chess board with little drawers to keep the chess pieces in. “Oh. Right. Play.” I’d forgotten about this date being a chess challenge. I’d had images of romance and roses. Instead, we would be playing chess.
I tried, and likely failed, to hide my disappointment.
“Isn’t that what you wanted to do tonight?” He tucked the chess board back under his arm as though his offering had been rejected. He almost looked like he planned on turning around and leaving.
“No!” I said, pulling at his arm to bring him far enough into the house for me to shut the door. “That is what we planned. Of course it is.”
Great. My first date with the guy of my dreams, and I got to share it with my brother, my Farmor, and my parents who were totally sacked out in their spell rests. Being that my dad occupied the couch in the living room, we would have to settle at the dining room table. Even with several rooms between us, my dad’s snoring could be heard loud and clear.
Jake looked the direction the noise was coming from, but had the good manners not to say anything.
“It’s just my dad,” Robison said.
I smiled and shrugged and acted like it was normal for my dad to sound like an attacking grizzly bear.
“Aren’t your parents—” He cut off what he was about to say, but I knew he wanted to know why my dad was sleeping there when my parents were split up. It was a fair question—especially given the climate of my parents’ relationship.
“Yes. They are. But what with Farmor and everything . . . well, it was a long night for all of us, and he needed to sleep.”
“Oh. Right.”
I led him to the dining room. Farmor and Robison followed. I wanted to tell them to get lost and find somebody else’s date to spy on, but Jake had been pretty relaxed about having his family around when we were at his house. Would he want the same sort of family interaction here? Would he think I was a hag if I told my little brother to give us some privacy?
Probably.
So I didn’t.
Besides, the little mutant had been through a lot and was handling it all like a champ. I had to respect that. “I’m sorry. I should have made us some snacks or something . . .” I trailed off.
“Well, I was kinda thinking we could go to the basketball game at the school at 7:00. We can grab a bite to eat either on the way there or the way back, depending on how long this takes.” He pointed to the chess board.
Farmor smiled wide. “I’ll fix you up something to tide you over until then.” She hurried off to the kitchen. I swallowed hard, thinking of all those vials and jars filled with the colorful liquids that could be jellied bat eyes for all I knew.
Jake placed the wooden chess board on the table carefully so as to not scratch either the table or the board. He opened the drawer closest to me and said, “Here are your pieces.”
He left me to empty the drawer on my own and went to his side. He went straight to work—no idle chit chat or warming up to anyone.
Chess.
I put renewed energy in not feeling disappointed. Chess and the basketball game at school weren’t high on my list of romantic dates. I shouldn’t have felt bad, should have been elated. Did it matter what we did? We were together. What more did I need? But in my fantasies, we went for long romantic walks by the ocean or something like that.
Robison watched me empty my drawer of the pawns, castles, and knights. “Whoa! This is even cooler than Dad’s set.”
That wasn’t hard to do. Dad’s was a cheap made-in-China set, and the pieces were made out of that plastic that looked like glass. But Jake’s set looked like a family heirloom. The wood on the sides of the box was carved to look like castle bricks and when the drawers were pulled out, they looked like draw bridges. My pieces were pewter with golden capes and crowns on the queen and king. Gold embellishments were on every one of my pewter pieces.
Everywhere my pieces had gold, Jake’s pieces had black. I was finishing up placing pawns on the queen’s side of the board when he started telling Robison about chess. Robison had been fingering the gold-leafed lettering that made up the numbers and letters along the side.
“Those are the coordinates.” Jake began explaining a simplified version of why the coordinates were important.
Robison let him go on for a brief moment before saying, “I already know. My dad and I play when he says I need time away from the TV and video games.”
Jake stopped short, and I was just about to chastise Robison for being rude when Jake’s face broke into a huge grin. “That’s awesome. You can play me after I beat your sister.”
Farmor’s eyebrows climbed her forehead as she entered the dining room with a tray of various snack items. “And why would you assume you’ll be able to win against her?”
“He’s just teasing Farmor; he doesn’t mean anything by it,” I said. Farmor looked like she might wave her hand and turn Jake into a lobster. It suddenly seemed like a horrible idea to have my magic-casting grandmother in the same room with my date. “It’s just friendly competition,” I continued, hoping I was right. What if Jake really did only come here to stomp me into the dust?
I looked over the tray she set down on the table.
There were chips and dip, and some thin cookies that smelled and looked like they just came out of the oven. She had to have magicked them into existence, because Swedish pepparkakor cookies took forever to make—as in literal days. I had made them from her recipe several times, so I knew there was no way she just whipped these up during my spell resting. I wondered what magicked cookies tasted like.
Jake and Robison had no misgivings or hesitations when it came to eating the cookies. They each tore into the tray of food as though neither one had ever seen food before. I took a cautious bite of the warm cookie and smiled to myself. They tasted perfect—far better than my meager attempts to make them. I definitely wanted the magical recipe. Hopefully magic recipes wouldn’t be as easy to screw up as normal recipes.
Farmor had also made saft—a Swedish punch. We didn’t have the ingredients for saft. Definitely magic. The prospect of learning these little household chore magics sent a thrill through me. No more arguing with Mom over dishes.
“Ready?” Jake asked as though playing chess and eating sorta-homemade gingerbread-type cookies was the best thing he could be doing in the whole world.
I sighed. “Ready.”
He must have mistaken my sigh for worry over him winning because he said, “I’ll go easy on you.”
That? Made me furious. Easy on me? Jake was supposed to be romantic and charming, not treating me like a weak opponent, or like a kid sister he was going to let win.
“You won’t have to go easy. My granddaughter is up to this challenge,” Farmor said.
It didn’t matter what Jake did in this game, anything he did wouldn’t be the right thing to do. Because playing at my dining room table while my little brother hovered behind my chair breathing loudly in my ear, and while my Farmor stood to the side growling in my defense, was anything except a dream date.
No dreams involved at all. Nightmares only.