Timelight, p.1
Timelight, page 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2024 by Faith Conlon
All rights reserved.
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.
Published by Flashpoint™ Books, Seattle
www.flashpointbooks.com
Produced by Girl Friday Productions
Design: Paul Barrett
Cover illustration: Vivienne To
Production editorial: Jaye Whitney Debber
Project management: Mari Kesselring
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-959411-81-9
ISBN (ebook): 978-1-959411-82-6
Library of Congress Control Number: 2024905813
First edition
For Connor
TIMELIGHT
Falconer Island
At the graveyard near the sea cliffs, where the lonely moors ended and the bone-chilling winds began, Malcolm Mordrex was the last to arrive. He kicked aside stray rocks as he came down the island path in his black leather jacket, ignoring the gathered group until he reached the foot of his grandfather’s grave. The others nodded to him in silence and began tossing small branches of pine upon the mounded earth, none of them saying what they were thinking: No one in the Mordrex family can be trusted. Traitors. Murderers.
As the last rays of light faded on the horizon, they formed a circle and waited. Catriona Winter stepped forward, her silvery hair blowing in the wind. Around her neck she wore a luminous blue gemstone, pale and gleaming like glacial ice.
“Let us now bid farewell.” She raised a hand to her chest and touched her stone. At once it began to glow, sending a beam of blue light into the darkening sky. The others did the same, setting off light beams of different colors—green, violet, yellow, red. Finally Malcolm reached for the white moonstone he wore on a silver chain and shot a blaze of light over the graveyard.
After a few moments the lights of the stones dimmed and went out. The group drifted away until only Malcolm and Catriona stood facing each other across the grave.
“You are the Keeper of the Mordrex Stone now,” she said. “Choose your path wisely.”
“I intend to,” Malcolm snapped.
“Your grandfather committed great crimes in his pursuit of power. A madness that nearly brought the world to an end.”
Malcolm scowled at her. “My grandfather was a stranger to me. His only words before he died were about you: ‘Catriona Winter stole our family stone.’”
“He had to be stopped,” Catriona said calmly. “I was a young girl then, thirteen at the war’s end.” She shook her head. “All these years, your grandfather never knew that you were alive. I am the one who felt your presence at the start of summer, the day you turned eighteen.”
Malcolm was silent.
“The decision to return the Mordrex Stone to you was mine,” Catriona continued. “Now that you’ve been found.”
“Now that he’s dead,” Malcolm said.
She locked eyes with him. “Yes.”
Catriona turned away and left the graveyard, following the path the others had taken. Malcolm watched her go and scooped up a handful of rocks at his feet. Striding to the edge of the cliff, he flung them violently into the sea. He’d been powerless all his life. Never again.
Someday, he’d have his revenge.
Taking a different route across the island, Malcolm made his way through the wind-battered pine trees and tangles of heather. When he reached the crumbling ruins of the ancient watch tower, he saw that the others had already left. Gone back to their cities around the globe.
He walked through the ruins until he found the marker in the ground, a polished circle of silver set amid the moss.
Underneath his black jacket, his white stone began to glow like a ghostly moon.
Malcolm stepped onto the silver circle.
And disappeared.
Three years later . . .
Chapter 1
Snowfall
The neighborhood was silent and dark when Charlie Winter banged out his front door on a December morning before dawn. He headed straight for the towering oak tree near his driveway and set up his soccer net in front of the trunk. Digging out his ball from the bushes, he tossed it onto his front lawn and fired a kick into the goal. He pounded shot after shot after shot. Anything to blot out the nightmare that had jolted him out of his sleep: the sky roaring, the white light blinding, everything shaking and shattering.
After a while, a kick sailed wide and knocked over the garbage bins at the side of the house. Charlie picked up the bins and twirled his ball in his hands, tempted to hurl it at his dad’s bedroom window just to see what would happen. His dad would be dead asleep at this hour, after another late night at his restaurant.
Charlie turned away to set up another shot instead.
High in the tree above him, something moved.
Charlie stopped and peered into the darkness, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He thought he could see a black shape among the branches, but he couldn’t make it out. Was it a bird? With a fluttering movement, the shape disappeared.
Shaking off the sensation that something had been watching him, he stepped back and thumped another kick into the goal.
“Well done!” a voice called, making him jump. It was his grandmother, standing at the end of the driveway, her silver hair catching the light of the corner streetlamp.
“Nana, what are you doing out here?” he asked as she approached.
“Just stopping by,” she said, turning her head to survey the deep shadows of the front yard. “Isn’t it early for soccer practice?”
Charlie hesitated, not wanting to mention his nightmare. “I wanted to get some extra shots in,” he lied. “Playoffs start tomorrow.”
“I see,” Nana said. “Why don’t you join me for breakfast this morning? You can leave your father a note.”
“He won’t notice I’m gone,” Charlie muttered.
“Of course he’ll notice,” Nana said gently. “Now go inside and get your school things. Are you in the mood for blackberry pancakes?”
Charlie managed a smile. “Definitely.”
Soon he and Nana were walking through their neighborhood, passing by the hilltop overlook with its view of the city skyline and Seattle’s landmark Space Needle soaring gracefully above all else. Nana was quiet, glancing at the treetops every now and then.
When they arrived at her house, she twisted her long hair into a knot and went to work making breakfast in her cozy, warm kitchen. Charlie settled himself at the table under the windows and watched the morning sky begin to lighten.
“Your birthday is coming up, only a week away,” Nana said, setting a stack of pancakes in front of him. Her homemade blackberry syrup oozed into a pleasing pool on his plate.
He avoided her eyes and dug in.
“Turning thirteen already,” she went on. “We’ll have a party here to celebrate.”
Charlie shrugged. As far as he was concerned, they could skip over the calendar square that marked his birthday. December 21, the day his mom left and never came back.
Nana’s giant orange cat lumbered into the kitchen and stared at the empty ceramic bowl near Charlie’s feet. “It’s too early for your second breakfast, Winston,” Nana scolded, but she slid a pancake into the bowl. Charlie waited the two seconds Winston needed to gobble down his treat before reaching to scratch the cat’s ears. Winston licked a paw with a satisfied smack and curled himself around Charlie’s ankles.
Nana sat down at the table across from Charlie. “Why were you out of bed so early this morning?”
“No reason.” He concentrated on his plate, pushing around the last bit of pancake.
“Would you like to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
A long silence followed. Finally Charlie put down his fork and met Nana’s eyes. They were the mirror image of his own, a golden-amber color, like honey, so unusual that people sometimes stared at his face a little too long.
“I’ve been having bad dreams,” he said. “I can’t remember them exactly.” He stopped, not wanting to remember the horrible panic he’d felt the moment he woke up.
Nana nodded. “Are they like the dreams you had before?”
“Yeah, the same ones I had after Mom went away.” Charlie looked out the window. “I don’t understand why we still can’t find her.”
I don’t understand why she left me.
Nana reached over and squeezed his hand. “I believe she will come back, Charlie, no matter what anyone else says. I know my daughter. She loves you very much. You mustn’t ever doubt that.”
Charlie sighed. Nana was the only person willing to talk to him about this. His dad wouldn’t, not anymore. After two years of frantic searching for his mom that led nowhere—no clues, no answers, no anything—the police told them some people just didn’t want to be found. Arielle Winter had left a note saying that she was leaving. She didn’t say where, she didn’t say why. But there was no evidence of foul play. Case closed. Almost another full year passed, and then his dad took down the family photos—all the ones with Charlie’s mom in them—and packed them away in the basement. Charlie kept a single photograph of her on the table next to his bed. Every night his mom smiled at him from her picture frame. But she never walked through his door.
The grandfather clock in Nana’s front hallway began to chime. “You’d better gather your things, or you’ll be late,” she said. “Come by for dinner tonight and we’ll finish our talk. There’s something you and I need to discuss before your birthday.”
“You mean, discuss my dreams?” Charlie said reluctantly. He’d been trying his best to forget them.
Nana looked out the window, taking her time to answer. “No,” she said at last. “Something more powerful than your dreams.”
Charlie nodded, although he had no idea what she meant. It wasn’t unusual for Nana to say something mysterious or show up unannounced the way she had this morning. Still, she was acting a little strange, even for her.
Nana abruptly rose from the table and walked down the hall, past the grandfather clock, and out the front door. Charlie grabbed his backpack and followed her. By the time he caught up, Nana was on the front steps of her house, staring at the sky.
“The weather is changing,” she said with a frown.
Charlie followed her gaze. In the far distance he spotted black clouds, nothing more.
“I’ll see you tonight,” Nana said, not turning her head. Charlie went down her front walkway and waved goodbye, but she didn’t notice.
Checking the time on his phone, he headed down the street. When he reached the grounds of his middle school, he thought he saw the same dark shape high in the trees again, fluttering among the branches. It disappeared from his view as the first school bell rang.
When classes were done for the day, Charlie hurried home to change his clothes, grab his sports bag, and dash out the door again for soccer practice. He arrived at the neighborhood field to find his coach calling for the team to gather around. Charlie hurried to join the huddle, squeezing in next to his best friend, Zach Parker.
“Listen up, Lions,” their coach said. “You’ve worked hard to get to the playoffs, and I’m proud of you. We’ve got tough games ahead in the city tournament. You’ll have to dig deep and find out what you’re capable of.” Charlie and Zach exchanged glances. The team’s goalie had broken his wrist three days ago, the worst possible timing.
“Charlie, you’ll be starting as goalkeeper tomorrow,” their coach said, handing him the goalie gloves.
Charlie stared at his coach in disbelief. He’d occasionally played goalie during their practices, but never during a regular game, much less a tournament match. His keeper skills were definitely average. Maybe below average.
“Let’s see some action!” their coach said with a clap. The huddle broke up and Charlie ran downfield, tugging on the gloves and trying not to panic. He’d been working his way off the bench all season, finally joining the starting lineup as wingman to Zach, their leading scorer. It seemed like a colossal miscalculation on the part of his coach to experiment with Charlie as goalkeeper. What if he let down the team during the tournament?
Zach trotted alongside him, keeping up a patter of encouragement. “Dude, we need someone fearless like you in the box!” He stopped for a moment to adjust the plastic safety glasses he had to wear on the field. “I hate these,” Zach muttered. “I look weird and I can’t see a thing.”
Charlie glanced at the sport glasses, bright neon orange against Zach’s dark brown skin. “They look cool! And you see pretty well. You’ve outscored everyone else on the team.”
Zach grinned and punched Charlie in the shoulder. “Go do your keeper thing and don’t let Skye kick your butt!”
Charlie shot him a look. They were scrimmaging today against the girls’ team that shared their practice field. Led by their star player, Skye MacKenzie, the Hawks were the champions of their division, steamrolling every opponent they met. They’d won the City Cup two years running and were hoping for a three-peat.
The scrimmage started and the Hawks’ striker blasted up the field, firing a shot past Charlie for a score. A few minutes later she was at it again, kicking him in the elbow as he dived for a block. She leaped over him and booted the ball into the net.
“Sorry, Charlie!” she shouted as she ran back to midfield, her blazing red hair flying behind her like shooting flames. Charlie picked himself up and brushed mud from his face. It wasn’t the first time he’d found himself on the losing end against Skye. She was his next-door neighbor and oldest friend.
Just as he was bracing himself for another onslaught, the sky turned black.
Charlie looked up to see a flash of light above his head.
Boom!
A clap of thunder shook the ground. Bolts of lightning streaked over the soccer field as if ripping the air apart.
Everyone stopped midfield. “Whoa,” Charlie said. He’d never seen a lightning storm like this before. Was this the weather Nana had been worried about?
Within seconds the coaches were blowing their whistles, and the scrimmage was over. That was fine with Charlie. Skye was kicking his butt. He ran to the sidelines to find his soccer bag as his teammates began grabbing their phones and rushing to leave. Heavy splats of rain hit the ground.
“Do you need a ride?” Zach yelled. “My mom’s coming to pick me up.”
“No, I have to go to the bookstore,” Charlie shouted back, shouldering his bag. He hurried away from the field and made his way down the winding hillside streets of the neighborhood. By the time he reached the bottom of the hill the thunder and rain had stopped, but the sky was still inky black, as if night had fallen early.
Charlie turned onto a narrow cobblestone alley lined with trees and followed it to a dead end in front of a brick building with a hand-carved wooden sign above the door—Henry Tanaka, Bookseller: Used and Rare Editions.
He pushed the bookstore’s front door open and a bronze bell chimed above his head. “Mr. Tanaka, I’m here,” he called, making his way through the dense maze of bookshelves to the back of the store where Mr. Tanaka kept his desk.
Around a corner came an enormous black retriever mix, bounding up to Charlie and wildly wagging his tail.
“Hey, Lucky, how are you?” Charlie grinned, rubbing his hands over the dog’s velvety ears.
“You’re early, Charlie,” Mr. Tanaka called from his rolling ladder, halfway up a wall of books. “But I’m glad you’re here. Lucky has been pacing the store. He seems anxious to see you today.”
“Maybe the lightning storm spooked him. Our soccer practice got called off,” Charlie said, piling his gear behind Mr. Tanaka’s desk and trying not to drip muddy water over everything.
Mr. Tanaka climbed down the ladder, balancing several books in one hand. With his Seattle Mariners baseball cap perched over his gray hair, Mr. Tanaka didn’t look very old, but he was the same age as Nana. The two of them had been friends since childhood, and it had been Nana’s idea for Charlie to work at the bookstore for his seventh-grade volunteer hours. Charlie was sure he was Mr. Tanaka’s first employee. No one else ever worked there.
Charlie sat down at the store’s computer and switched it on. At the same moment, Lucky bolted to the front door and began to bark, loud and furious.
Charlie swiveled around in his chair.
Outside the store windows, snow was falling. A heavy, swirling snow, blowing in every direction like an Arctic blizzard.
Mr. Tanaka put down the books he was carrying and gazed at the windows. “Snowfall,” he murmured, furrowing his brow. “Such a sudden change in the weather.”
Charlie’s neck prickled, remembering Nana’s words.
“Why don’t you head home now,” Mr. Tanaka said to him.
“My dad’s still at work, so I’m going to my grandmother’s for dinner. I can finish up my work here first,” Charlie said. The air in the room suddenly felt colder, as if the storm had knocked down the front door and whooshed inside.
Lucky’s barking got louder.
Mr. Tanaka took the dog leash from a peg on the wall and handed it to Charlie. “Go to your grandmother’s now, and take Lucky with you. I’ll pick him up after I close the store tonight.”
