Unwrapped: A Fated Realms Novel - 1

by M J Sherlock

  Unwrapped

  A Fated Realms Novel - Book 1

  M J Sherlock

  M J Sherlock Ltd

  Copyright © 2020 Michelle Sherlock

  All rights reserved

  This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

  The moral rights of Michelle Sherlock to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 88 of the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ISBN: 978-1-913764-00-5

  Published by M J Sherlock Ltd

  Dedication

  For Jeremy, Daniel and Analiese, our extended family and all our descendants. Enjoy the adventure that is life and know you are loved.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Beginnings

  Chapter 2: Étoile

  Chapter 3: Venator

  Chapter 4: Ambush

  Chapter 5: Ellie-Grace

  Chapter 6: Aftermath

  Chapter 7: Paris

  Chapter 8: Roots

  Chapter 9: Evasion

  Chapter 10: Forgotten

  Chapter 11: Obstacles

  Chapter 12: Trapped

  Chapter 13: Pierre

  Chapter 14: Summer’s End

  Chapter 15: Guardians

  Chapter 16: Looking Glass Pond

  Chapter 17: Worlds Collide

  Chapter 18: A Spy in the Camp

  Chapter 19: Rendezvous

  Chapter 20: Mind the Gap

  Chapter 21: Captured

  Chapter 22: Camp Clotho

  Chapter 23: Clash of Opinions

  Chapter 24: Preparing for Battle

  Chapter 25: Royal Heirs

  Chapter 26: The Cloaken Council

  Chapter 27: A Royal Coronation

  Chapter 28: Galden

  Chapter 29: A Rescue Mission

  Chapter 30: Out of Chaos

  Chapter 31: Decuma

  Sneak Preview of Book 2

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Chapter 1: Beginnings

  For days leading up to my fourteenth birthday a constant itch crawled between my shoulders as if an unseen predator was watching. I would rush home from school, bolt the door and pull my bedroom curtains shut. A trickling sense of unease continually invaded my spine. Some days I would brazen it out, refusing to give into fear. Other days it was all I could do to leave the house. Wherever I went, I sensed danger stalked me.

  No-one listened. My parents were no help, alternately ignoring or even laughing at my fears. They labelled it as anxiety about our recent move to London. Yet each day I woke cold and clammy from dreams and nightmares I could barely remember. Even I was shocked that an unexpected present on my birthday could unwrap a chain of events from which there would be no escape.

  The day of my birthday dawned clear and cold. I awoke with a start as the front door snicked closed. The house felt empty. My parents had abandoned me. Any excitement drained away. I dragged myself out of bed and slunk downstairs to get breakfast. There was a note and money on the black gloss kitchen worktop. ‘Sorry, crisis at work. Got to dash. Take some friends out for a meal. Happy Birthday - we’ll give you your presents later. Love, Mum and Dad.’

  I scooped up the money and fanned out the ten-pound notes. One hundred pounds. Generous maybe, but guilt money nonetheless. Ever since we had moved to London for my parents’ jobs, they had become more and more distant. I get they have important jobs - but come on - surely, they could put me first for one day. Money to take friends out. What a joke. What friends? I let the money fall.

  My Mum used to work school hours but now she and Dad are executives, their hours are unpredictable. I’d call a friend and vent but since we moved at New Year six weeks earlier, I’d started to lose touch with my old friends and hadn’t yet found new ones. Bullies though, I’d found plenty of those. My stomach twisted at the thought of the school day to come. I stomped around making breakfast, slamming cupboard doors as I made porridge and coffee.

  I spotted the gift as I prepared to leave for school. At first glance, the box was innocuous enough. It lay hidden in a corner of the kitchen and was wrapped in metallic paper. Inside it was a fist sized object, covered in a soft red woollen cloth. I lifted it out with care. A star-shaped orb made of stained glass, edged with gold and topped off with beaded gold ends. I struggled to drag my eyes away.

  Loyal to Dad’s French roots, I named it Étoile. It sparkled with its own light and washed the sleek, modern kitchen with a rainbow of colour. Smooth to the touch, it was a rare beauty. The one clue to its origin was a label that read Servāre. I googled it and saw it translated as protect, store, keep, guard, preserve, save and watch over. Weird. If I’d known the trouble it would bring, I’d have set fire to the gift. Instead, I popped it in my bag.

  A short while later, I made it to school, showered and dressed. It felt like my first day all over again. The shouts, the screams, the chatter and laughter of the other kids assaulted my ear drums like a pressure wave from a bomb. I wanted to clap my hands over my ears to shut it out but couldn’t afford any more negative attention.

  My face scrunched, nostrils flared, and I cringed as the press of unwashed bodies and competing stench of deodorant, aftershave and perfume made me want to heave. I heard rushing in my ears as blood pumped too fast in my head and I could feel myself sway. Not again. My breakfast forced its way up my throat and into my mouth. I fought my way over to a bin and hurled.

  ‘Nice one,’ yelled a boy near me, ‘Ellie-Grace threw up again.’

  ‘Loser,’ muttered a tall, wide girl and thumped my back as she pushed past me.

  I almost toppled into the bin. Gross.

  Happy Birthday indeed.

  I tugged a water bottle from my bag and swilled my mouth out. It wasn’t fair. At my last school, I had had friends I had carried through from primary school and had added others to our group. I’d been popular. But here, no such luck. Anxiety bubbled constantly. I bit my lip and only let go when the coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. I spat it out and then hurried off to class. Whispers hissed around me. Kids are cruel and I’d given them a weapon, so many weapons.

  I jammed my fists into my purple blazer pockets and wished we had never left Cheshire. Who moves in the middle of Year 9? My parents were crazy. Didn’t they realise with this move they had set me up to fail? My friends were back there, not here. Would things ever improve? I slumped onto a chair, opened my books and listened to the teacher drone on, or tried at least.

  Distantly I heard someone call my name.

  ‘Ellie-Grace, are you even listening?’

  Great. Now my Physics teacher was mad at me too. ‘Sorry Sir, I feel sick.’

  He gave me a keen look as fresh whispers broke out behind me. ‘Pay attention. If it gets worse, go to Reception.’

  The sound of the bell cut him short and the whole class erupted again with the noise of scraping chairs; the whistle and slide of bags being grabbed; and footsteps clattering out the room. The students separated into friendship groups and left chattering noisily. I grabbed my backpack and angled my head down as I exited the roo
m.

  Fluorescent lights buzzed and clicked overhead.

  ‘Give it back.’ Yelled a girl further up the brightly lit corridor.

  ‘Make me.’ The tall, wide girl from earlier held a phone high out of reach.

  ‘Give it me now.’ Blonde corkscrew curls hid half the face of the other girl as she kicked out at her tormentor.

  I could turn and pretend I hadn’t seen but how would I live with myself then? Instead, I marched over before my courage escaped me. ‘Best hand it over, Mr Philips is right behind me.’ I gave the bully a meaningful stare and held out my hand.

  The tall girl snorted and threw the phone in an arc towards the blonde girl and scarpered. The latter dived to catch her phone before it hit the floor. She came back up looking relieved, dusting off the phone against her trousers.

  ‘Thanks, I’m Maisie.’

  ‘Ellie-Grace. Great catch.’

  We stood close together as she fought to control her rapid breathing.

  ‘That girl keeps cornering me and Katherine. She either hits us or steals. Until now it was just money. I never thought she’d go for my phone.’

  ‘Report her. She’s a bully.’

  ‘Like you reported her earlier?’

  ‘Saw that did you.’ My back twinged.

  Maisie wrinkled her nose. ‘Watching you hurl was pretty unmissable.’

  I gave a half laugh as my eyes slid away in shame.

  The bell sounded for our next lesson. Break was over and our fellow students surged around us.

  Maisie raised her voice so I could still hear her. ‘We’d better hustle. Sit with me and Katherine at lunch.’

  My eyes met hers again. ‘Thanks. It’s hard being the new girl.’

  We strolled to our Art lesson together.

  ‘Katherine and I arrived shortly before you did. It’ll get better I promise.’

  ‘Really?’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘That thing with your phone looked pretty bad.’

  ‘I have Katherine and now you. We’ll be fine.’ She took her place at an easel.

  The lesson flew. Art was my favourite subject by far. I got lost in the flowing lines, colour and texture of creation. When the bell rang after third period, I met the two girls as planned. Katherine had rich auburn hair that hung a little way past her shoulders. Her open face and wide smile reminded me of Lucy from the Narnia films.

  ‘Where did you move from?’ Katherine plonked her tray with a plate of fish and chips and a drink on the table.

  ‘Nantwich in Cheshire.’ I bit into a Cornish pasty.

  ‘I bet Borehamwood is a bit of a shock to your system then.’ Maisie dunked her chips into a curry sauce and began eating.

  ‘Sure is.’ I brushed crumbs of flaky pastry off my uniform.

  They’d both moved from inner London and considered Borehamwood green in comparison. We swapped stories of our families and the best and worst moments since moving. We made plans to meet up the following night for a birthday meal. I had a friend, no two friends. A flicker of hope burned inside me. Maybe things would get better.

  Just after eight, my evening of movie watching was interrupted by the sound of a key in the lock. My parents had returned. ‘Happy Birthday,’ they called. Hangers rustled from the hall cupboard as they stowed coats and laptop bags away.

  Dad came into the lounge, dressed in a navy suit which made him look taller. His short brown hair was brushed back from his forehead. He pulled me up from the blue corner sofa and into a hug. Mum followed suit; her red clad, slim body pressed against mine before pulling back. The mirror above the mantle caught our reflections. Her short, spiky haircut showed streaks of red, brown and gold in contrast with my black hair, but then mine was dyed too. I had changed it from blonde in protest following the move, but my parents barely noticed. They bustled around, grabbing coffee and a bag of gifts before settling each side of me on the sofa.

  ‘Sorry we missed you this morning.’ Mum handed me a small pile of packages wrapped in red paper.

  ‘It’s okay.’ I eyed the parcels. ‘I made a couple of friends at school today.’

  ‘Didn’t I tell you – you would.’ Dad squeezed my shoulder.

  I tore the wrappings off a large, thin, rectangular box. It held the laptop I’d been nagging for but hadn’t expected. ‘Thank you so much.’ I felt a rush of pleasure. The other gifts included a wireless keyboard, mouse and a new laptop backpack. I rose and hugged each of them again.

  ‘What did you eat?’ Mum asked.

  I pulled a face. ‘Cheese on toast.’

  ‘Can’t have that on your birthday.’ Dad pulled out his phone. ‘Let’s get an Indian delivered.’

  ‘Tell us about these new friends.’

  Chapter 2: Étoile

  When I went upstairs to bed my ears were immediately assaulted by pain. I went back downstairs to look for painkillers. As I approached my school backpack my pain lessened. I picked it up and the pain stopped altogether. What the-? I dropped the bag and slowly climbed the stairs. Pain increased as I went. Strange. I retraced my steps and reclaimed my backpack and the pain ceased again.

  Back in my room, I dumped the contents of the bag on my bed. The only thing new was the Étoile. Could it be the source of the pain? A printed brown label fluttered to the floor. One side read, ‘Ellie-Grace.’ I turned it over and read, ‘Reborn through fire.’ I tested whether the Étoile was the source of the pain by returning to the lounge and leaving it there. My pain began with a twinge before escalating to piercing as I got further away from it.

  No doubts left, I swallowed hard and reluctantly reclaimed it. Back in my room, I logged onto my laptop. Google gave me three and a half million hits for the phrase ‘star-shaped object causes pain.’ Most were for medical complaints. I smirked when I saw UFO sightings appear near the top of the results.

  Had someone sent me the Étoile for a laugh? It looked too expensive for any of my mates - new or old. I took photos of it and shared them on social media and asked if any of them had sent it. No-one replied.

  ‘Time for bed, Ellie,’ called Mum.

  ‘Night.’

  I’d been having strange dreams for a few nights now, would tonight be the same? Some girl with orange-red hair with a garbled message about me being a Guardian and having an enemy out to get me. I was in no doubt I had enemies. Plenty at school. Moving schools half-way through Year Nine had landed me in bullying territory. They tormented me about my northern accent and everything else. Each day it felt like I buried another piece of me as I tried to make myself smaller to fit in.

  My old Jiu-Jitsu Master wouldn’t approve if I beat the bullies up, so I had to practice restraint. With my brown belt, it wouldn’t be a fair fight, so I found other ways to mess with their heads - well at least some of the time. Perhaps I could show the bullies a photo of me winning my last Jui-Jitsu competition and get rid of them without throwing a punch. My restraint was coming off as weak. I needed to up my game.

  As I prepared for bed, I refreshed my phone screen. Nothing. My old friends had replied to other photos and chats about Valentine’s Day and my birthday but ignored that one. I reposted it and lay down to sleep.

  That night the dream girl’s voice cut through every layer of sleep and all my defences. 'Cloaken Guardian. You must find what is lost, right a great wrong and reunite our clans. All our lives depend on it. Only then can we defeat our enemy, the Venator. When you wake, you will remember.’

  Next morning, I wrote the details I could remember in a journal Aunt Stella had sent. I checked my phone again. Zilch. Someone had to know something. I traipsed downstairs, banged through the door and into the lounge. My parents were sitting on the sofa. They paused the TV on an image of the Castlerigg Stone Circle. We’d visited there the previous summer.

  ‘What do you know about the Étoile?’ I held it out in front of me and a rainbow of colours bathed the room in soft light, picking out artwork and family photos.

  ‘Étoile is French for star,’ said Dad.

&
nbsp; ‘I know - I meant this.’ I shoved it towards them. They weren’t normally this dense.

  Mum raised an eyebrow. ‘Are we playing Charades? You’re not holding anything.’

  A weight settled in the pit of my stomach. I tossed the Étoile in her lap and stared bug-eyed when she didn’t so much as flinch. My ears twinged and buzzing began. My heart raced and I began to freak out - why couldn’t she see or feel it? Full of nervous energy, I hugged Mum and scooped the Étoile off her lap. ‘I’m nipping out.’ I grabbed my bag and coat, laced up my trainers, legged it to the tube station and jumped on a tube headed for Hyde Park Corner.

  On arrival, I jogged up and out and dropped a pound in a beggar’s hat. Brakes squealed and horns blared as the traffic stuttered past. An icy wind gusted as it nipped at my ears and made me shiver. In the distance, there was a shimmer of golden yellow, over by Wellington Arch. That was new.

  When I drew closer, I saw something that made me stop still. Elbowed one too many times, I moved forward to get a closer look. The shimmering light outlined a doorway into the stone of the Arch itself. As I approached, a brass handle appeared. I turned it with a shaking hand, pausing on the threshold to glance behind me. A group of Japanese tourists took photos on selfie sticks. No one gawked at the door or me. Was I now invisible? I went in and called out, ‘Anyone home?’

  Scents of lavender failed to disguise the musty odour of disuse. Inside was a large room with only one further door off it. It felt like a holiday let not a home. A quilt, sheets and pillows lay sealed in see-through plastic on a double bed. I rifled through a nearby chest of drawers, unearthing shrink-wrapped t-shirts, joggers, socks and underwear in various sizes.

  I gulped as scenes from every horror film I’d ever watched flooded my mind. None of this should be here. I’d been to Hyde Park before and not seen anything strange. I shrugged out of my coat, now too hot despite the lack of radiators. What was going on? My parents couldn’t see or feel the Étoile. I’d had seven weird dreams on the run and a shimmering doorway had appeared leading into the stone of an ancient monument. Was I going nuts? Insanity didn’t run in the family as far as I was aware. Perhaps I had a batty relative stuck in a tower somewhere. I shrugged and continued my exploration.