CHASE TINKER AND THE HOUSE OF MAGIC
By Malia Ann Haberman
Smashwords edition published at Smashwords by Crossroad Press
© 2012 Malia Ann Haberman
Copy-edited by: Darren Pulsford
Cover Design By: David Dodd
Cover images courtesy of:
http://arrsistablestock.deviantart.com
http://mickeyrem.deviantart.com/
LICENSE NOTES
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Meet the Author
Malia loves dancing, reading, writing, playing video games on her iPod, watching TV, and chocolate. She also has terrible motion sickness and hates onions. She's always wanted to have the ability to teleport and the power to move things with her mind. Then one night she dreamed she was living in a house filled with magical rooms and the very next day she started throwing ideas together for her Chase Tinker fantasy series, after consulting with her kids, of course. She lives in the Seattle area with her four wild and crazy ferrets. You can email her at [email protected]. She'd love to hear from you.
Acknowledgments
I don't have a lot of acknowledgements, but I really owe a huge debt of gratitude to my daughter Brandi for all her time and hard work in reading and editing my thousands of, sometimes crazy, words, and making everything make sense. There aren't enough words in the world to say how awesome I think you are.
I also have some special thank yous for my daughter Shauna and my brother Tim for all their helpful advice and encouragement. And, even though she's no longer here to see me finally get published, I still want to send an extra-special thank you to my mom for always believing in me, no matter what.
One more huge thank you goes to David Niall Wilson and all the other people at Crossroad Press for helping me get my books out into the world for people to read.
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To my beautiful daughter, Brandi,
thank you from the bottom of my heart
for all your awesome help.
Chase Tinker & The House of Magic
THE BEGINNING
Escape
It was a sinister place, like something straight out of a nightmare. Cold as an icy winter night; darkness and evil seemed to live in every stone, crevice and corner of the centuries-old building. It was especially so in the dungeon-like basement where water dribbled from cracked, mossy walls and the rough stone floors were blanketed in scum. The stench of rotten and moldy dead things hung in the air like a thick haze.
In one of the tiny cells, a man huddled in a corner and stared at several rats as they fought over a half-empty bowl of rancid stew. Anyone who knew him would barely recognize him as the handsome man he'd once been. His dark hair, which he'd kept short and neat, was now shaggy and filthy; a scraggly beard hid the lower half of his thin face. His clothes were torn and ragged, and his skin was almost as grimy as the floor. Only the feverish burning in his dark-brown, red-rimmed eyes showed he still hadn't given up on life.
"Please, don't let them break me," he murmured, ducking his head and running a hand over his hair. Protecting his family and—well, that was the most important thing on his mind. But it became harder as each day passed; especially on the days his captors decided to visit. They spent hours asking questions, playing mind games, torturing; determined to find out everything he knew. Sometimes the pain was almost too much for him to bear. He had to find a way to escape.
Several minutes later, the man heard scraping footsteps echoing down the passageway. The rats slipped away into the cracks in the walls.
"I can't believe our brilliant luck lately, Roland!" said a man. "Things are goin' our way again. And I say it's bloody well time."
The captive man's breath caught in his throat as the other man's strongly accented words again reminded him that he was locked up somewhere in England, a very long way from his small, cozy apartment in New York City.
"I do hope Clive's correct," said a woman's snobbish voice, "and we get what belongs to us at long last. I'm sick to death of the waiting."
"We all are, Maven, but don't worry, it will be worth it in the end," said Roland as they stopped outside the cell. His voice was deep and raspy. "It won't be long until everything is ours."
The man inside heard jingling and a click as a key turned in the lock of the thick wooden door. It swung open, the rusty hinges creaking. Flickering firelight from the torches in the passage spilled into the room. A frosty breeze swirled around him and chills rippled up and down his spine as three large shadows loomed over him. These beings, with their cruel, icy-blue eyes, always gave him the feeling that maybe they weren't quite human, as if large parts of their souls were missing.
Shivering, the man pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around them. He wasn't sure if he could take another day of their interrogations.
"Such a revolting place," said Maven as she peered around the room and pressed a handkerchief to her nose. "Let's finish quickly and leave this wretched place."
Clive was bent over, carrying something across his shoulders. It was a person. He tossed the limp body onto the floor.
"Good evening, Mr. Tinker," said Roland. "We've been kind enough to bring you some company. It's someone I'm sure you'll enjoy seeing. But don't relax too much. We will be back later for more of our lovely…discussions."
The door banged shut and the key turned in the lock. The sound of footsteps faded away, and a far-off door slammed with an echo.
Thankful he'd gotten a temporary reprieve; the man crawled across the floor to the body and rolled it over.
"Oh, my God!" he cried when he saw the face. It was a woman he hadn't seen in a long time—his younger sister.
"Clair! Wake up!" He brushed her hair from her face. An ugly, black and purple bruise covered one cheek, blood trickled from a jagged gash on her forehead, and her wrists were red and bleeding from ropes that had been tied way too tightly before being removed. "Clair! Can you hear me?"
The woman's eyes fluttered open. She squinted at his scruffy face. "Benjamin? Ben? Is it really you? I can't believe I found you!" Clair's voice grew stronger as he helped her sit up. "If it wasn't for your voice, I don't think I would've recognized you. You don't look too good."
Ben smiled for the first time in over a year. "I've never been happier to see someone in my whole life."
"When I didn't hear from you on my birthday, I knew something awful must've happened. I've been searching for you for months."
"Well, welcome to my splendid abode with every luxury known to man," he said as he waved his hand around at the crumbling walls.
Clair swiped at the tears trickling down her cheeks. "I don't see how you can joke at a time like this," she said, with a sniffle. Something ran across her foot. "What was that?"
"A rat. I think. Don't worry, they're harmless. They only chew on you when you're sleeping."
She shuddered. "Ben, we have to get out of here. I heard those dreadful Marlowes say if they don't get what they want soon, they'll kill us."
"They're getting frustrated
," said Ben, "and it's making them a lot more ruthless. Maybe it'll make them careless too. We need the advantage in order to get out of here in one piece." He glanced at the high, barred window. "We'll make our move when the moon's gone down."
Hours later, Ben and Clair stood at the cell's door, listening intently. All was silent. "Okay, let's go," Ben said quietly.
Clair grasped his arm. They stepped forward and melted through the door, as if their bodies were made of liquid butter.
"Man, I wish I could do that by myself," Ben whispered as they tip-toed down the passageway. "I'd've been out of here in a flash."
"You've got your thing, I've got mine," she whispered back.
They passed several splintered wooden doors before coming to a large wine cellar filled with racks of dusty bottles. Next to the wall, a heavy-set man sat slouched in a chair with his arms crossed, his chin resting on his chest. He was snoring softly.
They thought they had successfully tip-toed by when he jerked awake.
"Blimey! How'd you get out?" bellowed the man, scrambling clumsily to his feet.
Clair turned and ran through the wall.
"How'd she do that?" he asked, groping the spot where Clair had disappeared.
Ben shrugged. "No idea."
The man was bashed from behind. He slumped to the floor. Clair stood there smiling and clutching a wine bottle. "Gosh, that felt good! If I wasn't in a hurry, I'd hit him again," she said as she crammed the cracked and dripping bottle back into the rack.
"Help me take his jacket," said Ben, grasping the man's arm. "It'll be even colder outside than it is in here."
"You take it," Clair said, after they were finished. "You need it more than I do."
Slipping on the warm jacket, Ben followed her up the stairs. When they reached the next door, without opening it, she stuck her head through, then pulled back. "All clear."
They snuck as swiftly as possible around corners, through doorways and down gloomy, cobwebby passageways. At last, they were outside, their backs pressed against the rough stones of a high wall. Hearts pounding, they both knew they were a long way from being out of danger.
The moon was now hidden behind the large thicket of trees they could see in the distance. They huddled together as a chilly wind rippled through the grass and brush and caused eerie, flickering shadows to dance all around them. They had to be far away from there before the sun came up. And, if things weren't bad enough, it looked as though a storm was blowing in.
Ben took a deep, fortifying breath. "Ready?"
Clair squeezed his hand. "I always am."
Bending low, the brother and sister dashed across the wide open field.
"Almost there!" Ben gasped out.
Right as they dove into the bushes, an arrow slammed into the tree next to them and shattered the bark. They ran for their lives.
CHAPTER ONE
Freaking Out
Hooooonk! Honk! Honk!
"Hey ya, kid! Look where you're goin'!"
The taxi driver shook his fist at Chase Tinker as he ran across the busy street and leaped onto the sidewalk.
"Sorry!" Chase yelled back with a quick wave.
He skidded to a stop in front of a small grocery store. Pictures of ice cream cones and popsicles were taped to the windows. Licking his lips, he dug in his pockets for some money. His shorts were so worn that one pocket had several holes in the bottom of it. In the other, he found nothing but a crumpled Derek Jeter baseball card, a fuzzy gummy worm, and his lucky race car from an old board game.
Scratching his nose, he squinted at the posters again, and then sauntered into the shadowy, cool store. He strolled down an aisle to the freezer section. Glancing casually over his shoulder, he opened one of the glass doors. White fog puffed out, chilling his face as he reached in and snatched one of the paper-wrapped cones. Head down, eyes on his scurrying feet, he was almost out into the hordes of New Yorkers when his arm was grabbed from behind.
"Hold it, sonny! Where do you think you're going?" growled a deep voice. "You didn't pay for that."
Chase's heart skipped several beats as he stumbled and stared up into a gray-haired man's bushy-eyebrowed face. Chase was tall for his age, but, man, this guy towered over him by at least a foot and a half.
"I—" he croaked.
"Chase Tinker!" spat the shopkeeper. "I'm not one bit surprised." He shook his head. "Out troublemaking again, eh? Took me an hour to wash all those rotten tomatoes off my front windows last week, mister. Well, I'll take you home to your folks today, but you better hope they do something about you or I won't be so nice next time." He looked to the rear of the store and yelled, "Hey, Louise! I'll be back in a bit. I've nabbed another shoplifter I need to take care of." He tossed the ice cream back into the freezer. "Okay, kid, lead the way."
The man kept a tight grip on Chase's arm as they headed down the sidewalk. Chase scrunched his face as the man's fingers dug into his skin, making Chase feel as if it were crushed in a subway door. What a sucky way to start my summer vacation, he thought while his stomach twisted into knots.
After a short walk to Chase's apartment building, they pushed through the revolving door and entered a lobby with peeling wallpaper and stained carpet. Hurrying into one of the old elevators, they stood in silence as it clanked and rattled its way to the tenth floor. Chase tapped his foot and jiggled his leg. Yep. His mom would ground him for life for this one.
He could see his thin face reflected in the gold button-panel. It was the color of toothpaste, while his dark-brown hair and eyes looked as black as charcoal in the dim overhead light. Too bad this elevator doesn't have a button to blast me straight to the moon, he thought glumly as the doors slid open.
At the end of the hallway, he took a deep breath and opened the brown, paint-chipped door. "Mom, I'm home!" he hollered as they stepped into the apartment. The man released Chase's arm. He rubbed the sore spots and wondered if he had finger-shaped bruises now.
"Chase, where have you been?" called Anne Tinker as she hurried down the hallway, buttoning her sweater, her hazel eyes flashing and her strawberry-blonde ponytail bouncing. "You know I need you to stay with Andy while I do my shift at the hospital!" She paused when she saw Chase wasn't alone. "Oh, Mr. O'Brien, what can I do for you?"
"Mrs. Tinker, I'm sorry to say, I just caught your son stealing from my store," he said.
Chase had to stop himself from giving a rude snort. Sorry? Yeah, right, he thought snidely.
Anne looked wide-eyed at her son. "Chase? Why on earth would you do something like that?"
Chase stared at the floor as he scuffed his toe on the carpet. "You know why!" he blurted out.
Mr. O'Brien's eyes shifted from Chase to his mother. He cleared his throat and looked at the ceiling. "Well…uh, I thought you should know he's been causing some trouble in the neighborhood lately and if it doesn't stop, I'll have to call the cops next time."
Her face glowing like a neon sign, Anne grabbed Mr. O'Brien's shirt sleeve and pulled him into the hall. "Thank you so much for bringing him home," she whispered. "I'll have a long talk with him and, I promise, this won't happen again."
"I hope not, or before you know it, you'll have a juvenile delinquent on your hands," he said before turning and walking back to the elevator.
Anne shut the door and heaved a long sigh as she sagged against it. Chase still stood in the middle of the living room. A television, tables and a dark-blue sofa and armchair, both covered with colorful pillows, were crammed into the small space.
She crossed her arms and stared at him. "I really can't believe this. Running around like a—like a hooligan! Breaking the law! You're lucky he cared enough not to call the police."
Chase shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "It's just…Dad's been gone for way over a year now and you put away all his stuff like he's not coming back. It's like you don't care anymore! Me and Andy hardly ever see you because all you do is work. I hate coming home! In fact, the way things are
, it doesn't even feel like home anyway!" The longer the words poured out, the louder his voice grew. "And I know you think I'm just a kid who doesn't know about grown-up stuff, but I can see without Dad here to help that things aren't going very well. I only wanted some ice cream!"
Anne looked as though Chase had just punched her in the stomach. "I've—I've never stopped caring. I'm doing my best." She blinked several times, as if trying not to cry. "And I've done everything I can to find him. You causing trouble sure isn't helping."
"Whatever."
"And just what do you mean by that?" she asked, propping her hands on her hips.
"Forget it! What's the use?" With one last glare at her, he ran down the hall and into his room. He turned to close the door, but, BAM! It banged shut by itself.
He swung back his foot to kick a soccer ball across the room, but before he could, it shot into the air. His eyes bulged as it ricocheted off the walls before crashing into a lamp. The ball then whipped back across the room and whomped him on the head.
"Argh!" he cried as he dropped onto his bed and ran his hands through his hair. Now, on top of everything else, it happened again—things moving by themselves, as if his life wasn't crappy enough.
The thing was, he had no idea how to control this strange—power—or whatever it was. Or how to make it go away. Or where it could've possibly from, for that matter. It seemed to happen more often when he was angry or upset. Was it some sort of magic? He wasn't sure if he believed in any of that crazy supernatural nonsense.
More than anything, he wished his dad was there to help with everything, but it was as if Benjamin Tinker had vanished off the face of the planet.
"What's going on, Dad?" he muttered. "Don't you know we all still need you around here?” Until his dad's disappearance, Chase hadn't been a troublemaker. He wasn't sure why he did it. He knew it was wrong to steal and to vandalize other people's property, but he was just so angry and frustrated with everything right now. Where the heck was his dad? Did he really leave them? Or—Chase hated to think it—was he…dead?
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