by Linda Palmer
Balmythra
by
Linda Palmer
&
Nancy K Howard
The Guardian of Balmythra Book 1
Balmythra © 2012 by Linda Varner Palmer and Nancy K. Howard
Cover art © 2012 by Devin Yarbro Howard
About the authors:
West Virginia native Nancy K. Howard is intrigued by the mysterious and the unknown having grown up with tales of the Flatwoods Monster and Mothman. Fantasy and science fiction are the mainstay of her reading, along with books and articles regarding the paranormal. In fact, anything on alternative science and history sets her pulse racing. But while she remains open to all possibilities of magic in the world, she stays grounded with her love of the PBS series Nova and reading science magazines.
Linda Varner Palmer has been writing for many years, books ranging in genre from Silhouette category romance to young adult paranormal romance, as well as many short stories, novellas, and anthology contributions. She was a Romance Writers of America RITA finalist twice and has won the 2011 and 2012 Electronic Publishing Industry Coalition (EPIC) award in the YA category for The Cinderella Swap and Nightmare, Interrupted. She was a finalist for the 2013 award for S'nat Wars, a book co-written with her daughter. Linda, who loves all things preternatural, lives in Arkansas with her family. Her website is: www.lvpalmer.com.
Other YA titles by Linda Palmer:
Jaguar Moon
Storm Swept
My Wolf
Wolf Run
Wolf Way
Wolf Crazy
His Wolf
Blood Wolf
Operation: Normal
Nightmare, Interrupted
The Cinderella Swap
Sidekicks
E.V.E.R
Spell Fail
Caught!
FAEted
Mistletoe Magyk
Sister Goldenhair Surprise and the Cruiser
The Problem with Pumpkins
S'nat Wars (Co-written with Julie Kimbrell)
Double Vision (Co-written with Julie Kimbrell)
Linda's dedication:
To my children, JJ and Julie. I'm in awe
of the amazing adults and loving
parents you've both become.
Nancy's dedication:
Dedicated to my amazing daughter Katie Forgy,
who is a constant inspiration
Chapter One
M'jorca
Mad Matilda's shrill whistle pierced the night. "Children, you have exactly two hours. Be back here at eight sharp, no exceptions."
"Yes ma'am!" We sounded like soldiers lined up before a nasty drill sergeant, and no wonder. Matilda Mae Crawford would gladly have grounded us all for bad attitudes, especially me, her least favorite charge. We had no intentions of letting her do that. We'd all saved our pennies too long and fully intended to spend every one of them on the carnival.
"Now I'd better not hear one word about anyone misbehaving, and that includes you, Leah Baker." She shook a fat finger right in my face, which made her upper arms flap like bat wings in the autumn breeze. "The folks of this town respect me—"
"As if." That soft whisper came from Kenny Zwanga, who stood right behind me. I don't know how I kept from laughing.
"—and they know I run a tight ship. They'll report to me at once if anyone does anything wrong." She took a moment to glare at each of us—four girls and three boys all dying to get away. Her frown deepened as she toyed with the silver whistle dangling from a cord around her neck. Oh how she loved to blow that thing. "Perhaps I should read the Pringle Home for Youth rules as a reminder of what you can and cannot do."
Matilda turned, probably to locate her ratty old bag in the beat-up minivan. Her T-shirt hitched up slightly in back, revealing the elastic of her dingy underwear, just visible above the waistband of tight pink sweatpants.
I exchanged lightning quick glances with my best friends, Matt Wright and Ashley Arby. We instantly bolted, as did Kenny and his best friend John McDaniel. Next time we saw Matilda she'd be tipsy and wouldn't remember anyway. As for twins Skye and Raine Fason, they stuck to themselves as a rule and wouldn't have run with us even if we'd invited them to.
Matt took the lead, heading straight for the candy apple wagon.
"Already?" Ashley's lower lip protruded in a strawberry pink pout.
"Why not?" He took a place at the end of the long line.
"Because I'm meeting Larry under the Tilt-A-Whirl in fifteen minutes, and I don't want my mouth and tongue to be all red and sticky." Ashley tossed her long blond hair, a habit that usually irritated the heck out of Matt. Tonight was no exception.
"Then don’t eat one."
The smell of hot sugar wafted over me as I quietly stayed out of their argument. I sucked in a deep, appreciative breath. I loved the sights and sounds of the Wexton carnival, from the brightly colored lights to the blaring carousel tunes. Two hours on a Friday night were not nearly enough time to enjoy them.
"But candy apples are my favorite...." As usual, Ashley sounded near tears.
Sighing, I stepped in to make peace again. "You can always buy one on the way out, Ash. I'll put it in my bag so no one will see it." I didn't go anywhere without the worn leather hobo slung over my shoulder. It was the only thing in my possession when I supposedly "stepped out of nowhere" on Hwy 7 eleven years ago. Or so the state troopers said. I didn't remember anything about it.
"Thanks, Leah." Ashley smirked at Matt, who abruptly turned his back on her and faced the concession wagon.
I peeked at her watch. "You'd better get going. You don't want to keep Larry waiting, do you?"
"No." Ashley slipped off her navy hoodie and knotted the sleeves of it loosely at her waist, a preppy look that suited her as much as the sparkly Teen Goddess tee she'd been hiding. How true, I thought, watching every young man at the carnival instantly zone in on her. I might as well have been invisible.
With a soft sigh of envy, I considered my Wexton Raiders tee and my faded jeans, both hand-me-downs from a former prisoner of Pringle's, or poPs, as we called ourselves. My short brown hair appeared spiky in comparison to her long curls. And the freckles sprinkled over my nose were anything but pretty. In fact, if it weren't for my eyes—light brown with copper flecks—I'd be the world's plainest Jane, one of the reasons I avoided mirrors.
To make matters worse, I was only five-foot-one with no figure to speak of. Ashley, sixteen, was already taller and had way more curves. No wonder Matt adored her. Not that he'd said anything. I just figured that's why they fought all the time. Matt wanted Ashley; Ashley wanted every other boy on the planet.
And me? Well, all I'd ever wanted was Matt.
With another sigh, I caught up with the hazel-eyed boy in question to give him my silent sympathy and support. In another five minutes, we both owned candy apples. We strolled down the length of the midway, crunching on the sugar-coated fruit and pointing out different sights to each other.
Three months from eighteen years old—a birthday we both dreaded—Matt stood just under six feet tall. He wore his brown hair short and messy, a look I liked, and sometimes skipped shaving, which made him seem even older. To tease him out of his temper, I pretended to trip on my own feet.
He laughed before shrugging sheepishly in apology for his bad mood. "Let's skip the rides and go to the side shows."
"So you can see the magician you've been talking about all week?"
"Right in one. He supposedly makes people from the audience disappear."
"So you've said…at least a hundred times." I tried to sound irritated but wound up grinning. "Maybe we could talk Larry and Ashley into going with us. With luck, he’ll choose Larry as his next victim." Our gazes locked. Matt grinned bac
k.
Side by side, arms occasionally brushing, we headed to the sideshows, always at the south end of the midway. A layer of dust soon coated last year’s sneakers, thanks to the dry dirt track beneath our feet. We passed all kinds of games designed to take our money, including Bingo, where Matilda would sip beer from a Coke cup and spend her two hours.
After stopping every few feet to check out this or that attraction, we finally reached a small red-and-white striped tent. We tossed what remained of our apples—just sticks and cores—into a trash bin.
The bright orange sun dipped below the horizon, a reminder that the clock steadily ticked away our precious freedom. It would be forever before the Ladies' Auxiliary freed us again by taking the younger poPs to a movie. And Matilda certainly wouldn't help out since she hated fun almost as much as she hated jewelry, junk food, and Vampire Diaries.
A small crowd stood in front of the magician's tent by the time we reached it. I scoped out the life-sized stand-up of M'jorca, Master Magician, and concluded that he wasn't much to look at with his long stringy hair, handlebar mustache, and piercing dark eyes. In fact, he sort of gave me the creeps. His costume didn't help, consisting mostly of a flowing black robe and cheesy gold turban.
Matt and I exchanged a quick glance, silently trying to decide what to do. I saw a sign advertising four performances an evening on the quarter hour, starting at six-fifteen. That meant a show would begin in minutes. Curiosity seemed to have gotten the best of the small group gathered in front of the tent opening. Three women studied the picture of M'jorca. A couple of teenage boys checked out a large wooden box set on end on a wooden platform.
I watched as Matt joined them. He flexed his muscled biceps—the result of unloading trucks at Wal-Mart—and grasped the rectangular-shaped box as though to lift it. A grunt of surprise later, he gave that up and walked back to me.
"Weighs a ton." He kept his voice low. "I think it might be a real coffin."
I shivered at the thought.
At that moment M'jorca stepped out of the tent and onto the platform. His gaze, half hidden under bushy black eyebrows, swept the audience. For some reason, I shivered again when his eyes locked with mine. I also felt a weird jolt in the pit of my stomach. I stole a peek at Matt, whose expression never changed.
M'jorca bowed low, a sweeping gesture, and then spoke in a booming voice. "Welcome, welcome. The show will start in a few short minutes. For five dollars, you will be thrilled, chilled, and enchanted by my skill."
Matt spoke up. "Do you really make someone from the audience disappear during your show?"
"No."
The people in the growing crowd, most of whom must've heard the same rumor as Matt, grumbled among themselves.
M'jorca held up a hand to silence them. "I do that before the show as a little demonstration of my powers."
The murmuring grew louder. Matt elbowed me, his eyes wide with excitement. I snorted at him. M'jorca was no David Blaine, an amazing street magician we'd once seen on TV.
"Do I have a volunteer?"
"To do what?" asked a woman holding a baby.
"To step into the mystery box. Three taps of my wand—" M'jorca pulled a black-and-white wand from the sleeve of his ugly robe "—will be all that are required to make you disappear." He waved his hand rather dramatically and then smiled at the woman. "Will you assist me?"
She took a step back. "No thanks."
Everyone laughed.
"Surely someone here is brave enough to help in this demonstration. How about you, sir?"
"Nope," answered the man he'd asked.
Unfazed, M'jorca let his gaze sweep the audience again, pausing on...me. "How about you, miss?" He beckoned for me to join him.
I quickly shook my head in response.
"Are you afraid I won’t be able to bring you back?"
"I'm afraid I'll get locked in that coffin."
"The mystery box? Why, there’s no lock on it." M'jorca proved the truth of his words by easily opening and shutting the door of the box. I saw that it was wide enough inside for one good-sized adult or a couple of slender teens such as Matt and I. "Will you volunteer?"
"Go ahead, Leah." Matt poked me in the side.
I glared at him before I answered. "I'll do it if he—" I pointed to Matt "—gets in with me." The crowd murmured its opinion of that. I could tell that one old lady was shocked at the idea of two teenagers squished into so small a space. I also saw a couple of rude boys nudge each other and grin nasty grins. "He's my brother." Matt tensed, but didn't correct me. So I continued. "You can bring two of us back, right? I mean, that wouldn't be more than you can handle?"
"Of course not." M'jorca's gaze swept Matt suspiciously before he raised both his arms and grandly motioned us to join him. "Please come forward."
I grabbed Matt's wrist and dragged him toward the platform. He put his mouth against my ear, nearly tripping me in the process. "Are you nuts?"
I shook my head. "Are you scared?"
"No, but I don't like tight spots."
Now highly curious about where people went when they vanished, I pushed my way through the crowd. Right before we reached the stage, I bumped rather hard into a hunkered-over spectator, but never apologized. How could I with my gaze nailed to the box and the sudden feeling that someone had just walked over my grave? More than a little spooked, I gave Matt's arm an especially hard tug. He slammed into me, much to the amusement of the crowd.
"Careful there." M'jorca stepped smoothly between us and opened the box again with a flourish. He moved to one side so we could climb in.
With a gulp, I stepped inside. Matt did, too, squeezing in so that we faced one another, but didn't touch. He placed his hands on the wall behind me as though to brace himself. I felt self-conscious, so I kept my arms down and my feet firmly planted on the floor.
M'jorca closed the door. Total darkness engulfed us. I grabbed a handful of Matt's faded Aerosmith T-shirt and held on tight. He put his mouth to my ear. "It's just a silly trick."
Oh yeah? Then why was his voice shaking?
I heard the first light tap of M'jorca's wand and then the second. The third crashed loud as thunder.