"Oh, yeah,” I said. “The incident at school."
Outside, a car door slammed. Faye's head swiveled to the left, and she peered out the window. Her mouth dropped open and she shot out of the dinette. She planted her hands flat on the table and leaned over until her face was just inches from poor Dennis McCarty. He recoiled and moved closer to the window. There was no room for retreat. Such is life in a small trailer. His cheeks were an alarming shade of red.
"Is-that-who-I-think-it-is?” Faye enunciated the words carefully.
McCarty lifted his hands in surrender and gave Faye an ingratiating smile. “Yeah, it's Allie's dad. He wanted to ride along. What could I say?"
Faye stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment. When the agent started to squirm, she whirled and marched out of the trailer.
McCarty exhaled loudly and swiped a hand across his forehead.
"Sorry about that, Mr. McCarty,” I said. “Faye's not too fond of my dad."
"Call me Dennis,” he said.
I glanced out the window and, for the first time in my life, saw my mother and father together. Mike leaned against the car with his hands in his pockets, looking amused. Faye was tearing into him, gesturing wildly, her chin thrust out in anger.
Finally, Mike pushed away from the car and held up a hand. The fight went out of Faye. Her shoulders slumped, and her head went down. Mike put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. Surprisingly, she didn't pull away. My dad pointed at the trailer, leaned close to Faye and said something that made her smile. Were they talking about me? I looked away then, because I wanted to remember that image ... my parents standing together, both smiling, both looking my way.
Turned out that Dennis McCarty had lots of questions. Since he was a Star Seeker, I didn't have to lie ... at least until I got to the part about the Bradfords. Even though Dennis McCarty believed in the existence of magic, it would be wrong to reveal the Bradford half-demon secret. I glossed over Beck and Nicole's rescue of me, saying simply that they followed some clues I'd left.
Dennis said, “What clues?"
I examined my fingernails and said, “Gee, I can't remember. Whatever they drugged me with must have given me short-term memory loss."
He frowned. “That's strange. You seem to remember everything else with amazing clarity."
I pretended I didn't understand and fast-forwarded to the day of the incident. When I told him how I made the snake crawl backward and knocked Shane out of the triangle, McCarty grinned and pumped a fist in the air. “Yes! Our girl is back!"
When I ran out of words, Dennis filled in the blanks. Jeanette Yeager's counseling certification was phony. Her goal was to earn my trust and figure out how to get her hands on the moonstone.
"Along with Benny and Shane, she was undoubtedly a Trimark,” Dennis said. “Probably had the mark on her hand removed with laser surgery."
I told him about Faye accidentally letting it slip that I'd lost my powers.
He nodded. “Yeah, they must have thought getting the moonstone would be like taking candy from a baby."
"I guess they were wrong."
He offered a fist. I bumped it with mine and grinned.
I sobered quickly. The whole Jeanette Yeager thing was so bizarre; I simply couldn't wrap my head around it. I told Dennis. “Here's the weird part. The day it happened, she asked me all kinds of questions ... like what happened to my face ... and was my mother out of town. Why did she do that? She already knew the answers. I guess she was just yanking my chain. Right?"
He shrugged. “If she was the one calling the shots, she knew. It's possible more people are involved. Hopefully, we'll catch up with her, but Trimarks have a way of disappearing."
The rest of the story was chilling. We'd been lucky. Even though several people were badly injured no one had died. In addition to Luella and Beck, a couple of kids had been slashed by Shane's knife. Beck's was the most serious injury, but like Nicole said, they were fast healers.
Benny had vanished. Yeager's Honda had been found, abandoned, on the outskirts of Peacock Flats. The FBI was on their trail but not hopeful.
Dennis asked a bunch of questions. He even had me draw the pendant I'd seen up close ... Jeanette Yeager's.
"Are you sure there was a rim of black around the stone?"
"Positive. Why?"
He didn't answer right away. “What about the one Shane was wearing?"
"I was sorta busy doing other stuff, but, yeah, I think it did."
"Remember the Star Seeker meeting when Larry talked about Trimarks and the dark crystal and their use of triangulation?"
I nodded. “Yeah, the informant said the dark crystal gave Trimarks supernatural powers."
"We won't know for sure unless we get our hands on one, but I'm willing to bet their pendants have been infused with magic from the dark crystal."
I shook my head in wonder. “Makes sense. Shane, Yeager and Benny formed a perfect triangle with their bodies and used the dark crystal in the pendants to do magic."
Something else had been bothering me. “But, what was their purpose? Were they still trying to get the moonstone, or were they punishing me for not cooperating?"
Dennis said, “My guess is they were hoping you'd hand it over, but if they killed a few people in the process, no problem."
I pulled the moonstone and cross from the neck of my tee shirt and clicked the moonstone to six o'clock. I grinned at him. “Try to take it off me."
His mouth quirked up in a half smile. “And I'm doing this ... why?"
"Just try it."
The look on his face was like, Okay, she's just a kid. I'd better humor her.
He reached out for the moonstone. Zap!
He jerked his hand back and, if I'm not mistaken, said a few choice words under his breath.
I howled with laughter.
"You could have just told me,” Dennis said in a wounded tone.
"I thought a demonstration would work better. Spread the word, okay? The kid can take care of herself."
"Sure will.” He stood and offered his hand, making sure he was nowhere near the moonstone. We shook and he headed for the door. “Talk to you soon, kid."
When he reached for the door, Faye threw it open. He jumped about a foot and flattened himself against the wall so she could pass.
Faye stepped into the trailer without saying a word. She stopped at the dinette, dropped a kiss on top of my head and walked into her bedroom. Before she slid the door shut, she said, “Go talk to your dad."
I did.
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Chapter Thirty-One
We didn't return to school until the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. I guess they had to secure the crime scene, wash away the blood or whatever. Counselors were brought in from other school districts and set up in the community center. We were encouraged to drop in for a counseling session during our two days off. In spite of Faye's nagging, I refused to go.
"Why not?” she demanded. “You know you'll have nightmares again."
"I'm fine,” I said. “No nightmares."
Strangely enough, I was fine. When I told Nicole not to blame herself, it was like I'd come full circle. I believed my own words. How weird is that? The way I saw it, I had two choices. I could take on the burden of guilt. Ruth Wheeler probably died because of me. Beck was most likely stabbed because of me. Innocent people were injured and traumatized because evil people wanted the moonstone, and I wouldn't give it to them. A person can only carry so much guilt without collapsing under its weight.
On the other hand, I could see the big picture. I'd managed to save a few lives as well. And, unlike most fifteen-year-olds, I already knew my destiny. Even though I wasn't sure how it would play out, my life was bound to the moonstone. I needed to be at the top of my game. I am Allie, hear me roar!
Two unlikely and unrelated events happened on Wednesday, both involving my friend, Mercedes. The first occurred in a crowded hallway between second and third p
eriods. Sweet, happy Mercedes Trujillo, who didn't have a mean bone in her body, caught the ass pincher.
She filled us in during lunch.
"Oh my God, Allie, it was so cool! I can't believe I did that!"
She stood and looked around to make sure everyone at the table was listening.
"Here's how it went down. I opened my locker and saw my algebra book had fallen off the shelf and smashed my lunch, so, right away, I was pissed off, ya know?"
We all nodded.
"I bent over to pick it up and he nailed me ... the ass pincher!"
She made a face and rubbed her butt cheek. “Oh, girl, did that ever hurt!"
Donna Jo sighed hugely. “We know it hurts. Get on with the story."
Mercedes shot her a dirty look. “Okay, okay, I'm just setting the scene. Here's what happened: I grabbed the algebra book and whirled around, quick like a panther and whapped him. He fell down, his glasses flew off and it was game over."
She extended her arms over her head. “Winner: Mercedes Trujillo. Loser: Charles Raymond Atkinson Junior! Yes!"
That's right. The ass pincher was none other than Suzanne Maloney's sneaky little boyfriend, Charles. Swear to God.
Mercedes bowed. We applauded.
"What's going to happen to Charles?” I asked.
"Suspended until Mr. Hostetler gets back,” Mercedes said. “And he has to take a class on sexual harassment."
We all got quiet for a minute, thinking about how strange it was that the ass pincher turned out to be someone as nerdy as Charles. Guess you can never tell about people.
The second incident happened after school. I was sitting at the dinette conjugating French verbs when I heard Mercedes screaming, “Allie! Allie! Come quick! Hurry!"
My heart leaped in my chest as visions of horribly injured little Trujillos danced through my head. Gushing blood ... broken bones ... grease burns ... tamales lodged in tiny windpipes. Scared to death, I burst through the door and ran through mud and melting snow in my socks to where Mercedes stood, waving her arms.
"What? What?” I screamed back.
Then, I looked at her face. She was smiling, big time. Mercedes grabbed my arm and dragged me across their little yard and through the front door of their mobile home.
"Can't tell you,” she said. “You've got to see for yourself."
The whole Trujillo family was gathered around a fifty-four inch television set, tuned to a Spanish speaking station. When they saw me, they all started talking at once and pointing at the screen. Since they were speaking Spanish, the only word I picked up was Junior.
Puzzled, I looked back and forth between Mercedes and the TV. “Did your mom just say Junior?"
Mercedes was jumping up and down with excitement. “Wait ‘til the commercial's over. Do the words Mexican soap opera mean anything to you?"
"Duh ... no,” I said. “Why?
"Look!” Mercedes shrieked, pointing at the screen. The whole Trujillo family burst into applause as Junior Martinez (my Junior) strolled out of a bedroom with a satisfied grin on his face, his arms around two scantily dressed bimbos.
A strangled sound burst from my throat. “Aaarrgh!” My knees buckled and I plopped down on the floor, totally ignored by the Trujillos who were mesmerized by Junior's every word and gesture. Looking buff in faded jeans and a tight brown tee that emphasized his pecs and biceps, his hair was tipped with blond highlights and skillfully tousled.
During a close-up, his clear gray eyes looked right at me and I sighed, remembering our scorching farewell kiss.
Mama Trujillo sighed too and fanned herself by flapping her blouse up and down. “Que tipo tan bueno!"
Mercedes giggled. “Mama just said, ‘What a babe!’”
When the show ended, Mercedes said, “Can you believe it? Junior's a star. That's why he didn't come back. Do you have his cell number? Maybe you could call him, and he'd send us autographs."
Mama clapped her hands and said, “Si! Si! Allie, get autographs."
I assured them I'd try and scampered home in my wet, muddy socks.
Later that night, after Faye went to bed, I sat cross-legged on the couch and thought about the strangeness of my life. My former boyfriend, Junior, was starring in a Mexican daytime drama. I'd probably never see him again. My current boyfriend wasn't fully human. As a result of kissing him, I'd acquired a demon mark on my palm that meant ... who knew? His sister could leave her body and travel to faraway destinations.
So many questions without answers. Grandpa Claude. My missing grandmother, Melia. Faye's mysterious past. Mr. Hostetler's spooky little kid. And, the moonstone ... could it really stop time?
I turned out the lights, opened the blinds and looked for the moon, my nightly ritual. It was easy to find. Scudding clouds raced across the moon's surface, now in its last quarter. In all honesty, the ritual wasn't truly mine. Faye had started it years ago, before I got too old to tuck in bed. Bits and pieces of the song she used to sing drifted through my mind, and I hummed the melody. When the words came back to me, I sang aloud,
"I see the moon
The moon sees me."
Faye's voice rang out from the back of the trailer,
"God bless the moon
And God bless me."
We sang it again, louder this time then laughed like lunatics. When the trailer got quiet, I sat in the dark and gazed at the rising moon, so predictable in its cycle ... so utterly different from the chaos of my life.
I lifted the moonstone toward the window, watched the light play across its surface and made a decision. Just for tonight, I would put my problems aside and let unanswered questions remain unanswered. Instead, I would capture this tiny, fleeting moment of pure joy and hold it close, like the gemstone in my hand.
Feeling blessed, I smiled at the moon.
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Enhanced Content
What made you want to write this particular story?
Before I began writing full time, I was a counselor for at-risk teens. Our school provided educational opportunities and a safe haven for kids unable to function in a regular high school. We had reformed gang members—some more reformed than others—young girls with babies, kids who'd been victimized by bullies, Native American youth whose culture did not mesh with traditional attendance requirements, newly released felons and Hispanic teens who had to work during daytime hours and needed night school to continue their education. Even though I'd completed six years of college, I consider my years at this particular school the beginning of my education.
Here's what I learned: Despite crushing poverty and lack of parental support, some of our students were able to achieve success against all odds. I began to wonder why some have the spark and others don't. Is it possible to measure the will to succeed? Probably not, but the fact remains, some people have that spark and all they need is the right set of circumstances to fan the flame. Yvette, a young Native American girl who lived with her auntie in Indian housing had that spark. She walked to school each morning, pushing a flimsy stroller through the snow, her tiny baby girl wrapped tightly in a Pendleton blanket. The following June, I watched as Yvette shed tears of joy when she received her diploma and a college scholarship.
I've always had a soft spot in my heart for the underdog which leads us to Allie Emerson and Moonstone. My premise for the story sprang from real life stories. All I had to do was add a little magic, something I often wished I had when I was working as a counselor.
Is there a message in your work?
I hope the readers of this series will not only be entertained, but also understand the deeper issues. First of all, Faye and Allie's upside down relationship. It's true, Faye could use a parenting class, but I've tried very hard to portray her as a three-dimensional character, not just “The Bad Mother.” Despite their dysfunction, Faye and Allie love each other deeply.
In my mind, Allie is the personification of the word persistence. She's blessed with wry humor, a keen intelligence, a
n innate sense of right and wrong and knows the key to her future is to gain as much knowledge as possible. In other words, she has the spark. Equally as important, Allie has mentors. Her mentors include Kizzy Lovell and a caring teacher, Mrs. Burke, both of whom offer the help needed to fan the flame. Mentors like this often make the difference between success and failure.
An ongoing theme in the Unbidden Magic series is Allie's quest for information about her birth family. Imagine not knowing where you come from and a mother who stonewalls each time you ask a question. Add to that, a mysterious grandmother you didn't know existed, a newly-discovered father who has some serious magic of his own and the fact that your destiny is pre-ordained.
Allie is also searching for answers to a greater mystery. She's had little exposure to organized religion, but in Moonstone, Jesus opens his eyes and looks at her. A crucifix falls from the wall and scares off the evil men who are about to do her harm. In Moon Rise, she discovers that wearing a silver cross and the moonstone together enhances her powers. So, in order to cover all the bases, her nightly ritual includes a prayer and a tribute to the moon.
Why did you set the book in that part of the world?
To let people know there's more to Washington state than Seattle and rainy Forks, the setting for the Twilight series. Peacock Flats and Vista Valley are mythical towns, but very real places. I grew up in the Yakima valley, an area dubbed “The Fruit Bowl of the Nation.” With just eight inches of rain a year, the irrigated lands produce our famous Washington apples along with every other type of fruit or vegetable known to man. More recently, vineyards and wineries are replacing orchards. Our valley has become a destination for wine lovers. Besides, isn't a writer supposed to write what she knows?
What's next for Allie?
Without creating a spoiler, let's just say Allie has a few surprises ahead regarding her birth family. In the next book, she'll meet her mysterious grandmother in a most unusual place. At the end of the book, Faye reveals the secret causing her emotional trauma, a secret that shakes Allie to the core and causes her to alter her way of thinking. In addition, Allie's father, Mike Purdy, discovers the man who raised him is not his real father, but a man his mother met in Ireland who was ... well, you'll have to read the book to find out!
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