Small author's note before you begin: Hi! Firstly, this is the first time I'm letting anyone read this, as well as the first time I am posting my work out there for the public (and by public, I mean someone other than a professor) to read. This is the first in a planned series called The Starloch Chronicles. Through the Glass is the working title for the first book; I'm waiting for a better tittle to hit me. This only a first draft, and I'm not 100% content with these first two chapters, primarily their length, so any feedback would be wonderful - especially if you could let me know how it flows. Thanks in advance! *edit*: I forgot how forums make formatting a nightmare, I've tried to make it a little bit easier to read...
Chapter One
The plane bumped against the runway, jolting me awake as it skidded to a stop at London Heathrow Airport. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and sat up from my Mom's lap.
“Hi honey, did you have a good nap?” she cooed as she fussed with my messy hair.
“Are we at Gramma's yet Momma?”
“Almost baby. We just landed at the airport. Grandma will be inside waiting for us.”
I shifted over to the window, trying to grab my very first glimpse of England. The sun had just set though and I couldn't see more than the darkened runway and the plane parked next to ours.
“Come on Peanut, let's get going,” said Dad as he flung me over his shoulder and carried me off the plane, Mom trailing behind us. A couple long hallways later we were inside the brightly lit airport. I squirmed around in Dad's arms looking for Grandma.
“There she is! I see her, I see her!” I wiggled my way out of Dad's arms and darted right for Grandma. We don't get to see her much, since she lives “across the pond,” as Dad says, but one of my earliest memories of Grandma is that she smells sweet, like vanilla. I crashed into her arms, enjoying the vanilla scent for the first time in a long time.
“Why hello my darling,” she said gently in her silly accent. “How was your first airplane ride?”
“Okay I guess, Momma made me sleep.”
“So you're not tired right?”
“Nope, nope!” I chirped.
“Would you like to see some of London?”
I nodded furiously. “Can we get some fish and chips?”
“She's been asking for them since we got on the plane back in Boston,” Mom laughed from behind. She greeted Grandma with a hug.
“Where'd Daddy go Ma?” I asked.
“To get our luggage. Let's go catch up to him.” After we found Dad, Grandma led us to her car, which was parked in what felt like Timbuktu. She drove us around the city for a few hours, pointing out this big, old, boring building, and that one too. There weren't any cool theme parks or palm trees. I was bored with London already, and proceeded to throw a temper tantrum until we returned to Grandma's little townhouse—where I was promptly put to bed.
“This was my bedroom,” Mom said as she tucked me into a bed that hadn't been slept in in years, and was covered in ridiculous pink ruffles.
“It smells funny,” I pouted, regretting the hissy fit I had thrown earlier.
“Close your eyes and go to sleep, you won't notice it anymore. Goodnight pumpkin.”
I couldn't go to sleep though. I had slept the entire seven hour flight, and I lay awake, tossing and turning. The mattress was stiff in some places, and sagging deeply in others. To say I was uncomfortable would have been an understatement.
I don't know how long I was lying there before, suddenly, the standing mirror in the corner began to grow cloudy and then sparkle. I rubbed my eyes feverishly, unsure of what I was seeing. Was I crazy or was I actually exhausted and didn't realize it? Did the yucky fish and chips make me sick?
I had decided the house was haunted, and was about to start screaming for Mom or Dad when a little girl and two boys suddenly appeared in the mirror. “Holy smokes Liam, you did it!” exclaimed the girl, who looked to be the same age as me. She wore an elegant white sundress that I immediately envied and had a pale pink bow in her bright red hair.
I sat in bed, speechless and positive I was dreaming. How could those kids be in the mirror? The girl just continued to gab on excitedly about Liam's apparent accomplishment, when the blonde boy, who wasn't Liam, noticed me staring in disbelief. “You idiot,” he said to Liam, the dark-haired one, “you let an outsider see us!”
“What?” Liam exclaimed, then also noticing me.
“Father is going to be so angry with you!”
“Henry stop being a git.”
The girl stood then, and pressed a hand against the mirror. “Hi, what's your name?”
“Bronwyn,” I managed to whisper, barely able to find my voice.
“I'm Arabella. Are you six too?” I nodded my head so quickly I almost gave myself whiplash. “Can we be friends?”
“Ara, Father's going to be even angrier with you!” warned Henry.
“Stop being a Goody Two Shoes, Hen-Hen,” she countered. Henry sighed angrily and stormed out of view. Liam gave me a sweet smile and followed after his brother, though I was sure they weren't going to the same place.
“Arabella, are you a dream?” I asked, getting out of bed and sitting on the floor in front of the mirror.
“No silly, I'm a White Witch from Starloch.” She said this so casually, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.
“What's Starloch?” my six year old mind dared to venture.
“It's the country I live in. It's full of magic and secrets and non-witches like you aren't supposed to know about it. I'm a princess!”
“No way!” I didn't care that I had no idea where Starloch was, or that it was full of magic and secrets; no, the fact that my new friend was a princess had me captivated.
Arabella and I stayed up all night talking about what it was like to be a princess, and the next morning at breakfast, when I fell asleep face first in my scrambled eggs, Grandma voiced her concern.
“Bronwyn, didn't you sleep last night?”
“Not really Grammy.”
“Why not?”
I couldn't tell though. Arabella had sworn me to secrecy. “You can't tell anyone about Starloch and me if you wanna be friends,” she had said.
“I miss my bed,” I lied. It was the first I ever told.
We stayed at Grandma's house for a month that summer, and every night after my mom tucked me into bed, Arabella and I would play and tell stories until the wee hours of the morning when sleep finally overcame me. I was sad when I finally had to return home. I begged Arabella to come to the mirror in my bedroom in Massachusetts, but she could not. “I can only connect to the mirror of another witch.”
A year went by and by the time next summer rolled around and it was time to visit Grandma, I was as excited as a puppy with a new toy. Arabella had grown a few inches, as had I, but other than that my friend was exactly as I remember her. We spent the first week or so of my stay catching up on the past year of our lives. Arabella had gotten a pink pony which she named Teeny, and I had lost quite a few baby teeth, leaving silly holes in my mouth. Again we'd play and talk until the sun came up.
It was an exhausting month of not sleeping, but the stories of Starloch enchanted me so. The magical city of Summer Court on the peninsula, where the Palace and main markets were. Where you could walk on the street and meet witches and wizards and elves.
She told me stories of mermaids, tricking men into loving them and turning them mortal; of trolls in the forests who try to steal your food; of unicorns and dragons in the farthest of places. As we got older, and the years wore on, Henry and Liam would visit too. Henry was always so practical and by-the-rulebook. He told me facts of Starloch: Not everyone was a witch or wizard, and those who were often were of greater status. No peasant or outsider to Starloch could work a wand, it only responded to the magic within the witch or wizard.
But Liam, he was always interested in me. Interested in my world, and dreaming of adventures we'd have in it, as well as Starloch. We'd laugh, we'd joke, and sometimes he'd even sing me to sleep. I enjoyed my time with Liam much more than with Henry. I supposed that by the time I was eleven, I had formed somewhat of a crush on then 13-year-old Liam, much to Arabella, and mostly Henry's, dismay. Arabella would tease me, and Henry, well like most 13-year-old boys, he was just downright mean about it.
Then, when I was 14 and about to enter high school, Gram decided it would be nice to visit us in the U.S. I was beyond heartbroken. The summer before was the last time I had seen my friends, and things hadn't ended on good terms that summer. Arabella and I were fine of course, we never had any problems. But Henry and I had fought about Liam. And Liam and I had fought about why I couldn't be with the three of them (but especially him) in Starloch, despite the tales of magical travel. I had a year's worth of thoughts and rants to tell them. Apologies mostly.
But I never got my chance.
CHAPTER TWO
I stood in front of Gram's house in the pouring London rain with a heavy heart. This place used to bring me such joy and love, and now I felt nothing but heartache. I delayed going in as long as possible, but the rain finally soaked through my layers of clothes and I couldn't delay any longer without getting sick. Mom, Dad, and Aunt Cate were already inside, drying off. Mom and I were both shocked that dad decided to come with us. They had barely spoken since the divorce almost two years ago. I think my mom still loved him, deep down, and was glad for his company in this difficult time.
There was no familiar smell of vanilla to greet me this summer. No bear hug to make up for a missing year's worth. No happy golden retriever furiously wagging her tail in excitement. This year was a sad year.
Grandma Ana had passed away two days ago, yet the full impact of her death didn't hit me until that moment, when everything familiar was gone. A tear escaped from my eye, and seeing this my dad pulled me into a hug. We hadn't been to London to see Grandma for almost three years. I didn't even know she was sick until last week when she came down with some infection that took over her entire body, until she succumbed in her sleep two nights ago. I never got to say goodbye.
“I'm okay,” I mumbled, pulling away. “Tired though, I think I'll go to bed.” Grabbing my duffel bag, I trudged up the pink plush steps for the first time in three years, unsure of what I would find. When I pushed open the door, the first thing I noticed was the thin layer of dust on everything but the bed. I quickly dusted off the essentials and when I got to the full size mirror in the corner, a bunch of flowers drawn in the corner in red lipstick caught my eye. It was my symbol with Arabella, Liam, and Henry to let each other know we were there and wanted to talk. They looked quite old, and as if they had been hastily wiped away a few times then redrawn. A daisy for Arabella, a tulip for Henry, and a rose for Liam. My heart leapt a little.
There were three others in this house that I didn't say goodbye too either. It was three years ago when Grandma decided she would come visit us in Massachusetts so I wouldn't have to miss any sports camps or work time. But no one had ever told Arabella, Liam, and Henry that. To them, I just disappeared. I wanted to see my friends again, to be comforted by them and to hear their stories and share the events of the past few years.
But tonight wasn't the night. Grandma's funeral was in the morning, and tonight I just wanted to miss her.
It rained again, and as we stood in the cemetery, huddled under black umbrellas listening to the service I couldn't feel a damn thing except the mud soaking through my favorite high heels. I should be sad, but I couldn't cry any more. I should be angry that Aunt Cate stood on the other side of my father, clutching his hand and flaunting their engagement, and her baby bump, with my Mom right there; should be angry that she showed up for Grandma's funeral after all the pain she caused our family. I imagined Grandma would be rolling over in her grave. But I couldn't being angry anymore without opening old wounds. It had taken me a long time to get over Dad's affair with Aunt Cate, and I didn't want to go there again.
After the service, everyone returned to Grandma's house. I was hounded by people I'd never met offering their condolences. Aunt Cate giggled obnoxiously and hung all over my Dad like a teenager, as if her mother hadn't just passed away. My Mom, as visibly miserable as I felt, went straight for the wine. When I couldn't take the cooing over Aunt Cate's baby bump and the countless “I'm sorry sweetie's” any more, I swiped a bottle of vodka from the kitchen and slipped upstairs to my room.
I sat on my bed for a long time staring at the bottle. I never was into drinking until the divorce. It wasn't just my Mom's life that fell apart; mine did too. My whole world was collapsing around me and I turned to something I thought would take away the pain. I knew it was wrong, that alcohol caused more problems than it solved. My Mom's stumbling around downstairs was enough proof of that. Yet still I turned to that drunk comfort.
I gave in and took a long swig. It burned on the way down and I coughed a little, having nothing to chase away the discomfort of straight, warm vodka. In that moment, I hated my life and what it had become. I took another swig, and then another, and another.
“How did my life get like this?” I asked the wallpaper, feeling the buzz. Engrossed in the familiarity of the room, I longed to go back in time, to when things were simple and my parents were in love. My eyes fell onto the mirror and I knew it was time to see if my friends were still around, still waiting for me to show up.
Rolling off the bed, I stumbled to my purse to find a tube of lipstick. I shakily drew a giant star in my favorite ruby red and stumbled backwards, waiting. When nothing happened I turned back to the bed, brokenhearted, and took another long swig of vodka.
“Where in the hell have you been?” came a female voice from behind me. I gasped and turned around to find an eighteen-year-old Arabella scowling at me, hands on hips. She wore a deep emerald ball gown that accentuated her hair, which was a mass of curls and had a crown secured in there. She was prettier than I remembered her.
“Long story,” I stuttered, the alcohol having more of an effect on me than I thought.
“Bronwyn, are you drunk?”
“My life is miserable Ara,” I confessed, a tear slipping from my eye.
“Oh no. I wish I had more time for this right now. Henry's coronation begins in a half an hour.”
“Henry's King? I thought Liam was first in line since he's technically older? And what about your Dad?”
Arabella's face turned grim. “My parents were murdered a month ago. And Liam's been missing for almost a year now. We think he's...gone as well.”
My heart instantly broke. Liam was dead? All those nights we'd stay up and talk, the wonderful stories, the songs he'd sing softly until I fell asleep—they all came rushing back to me, and I was instantly crushed that I would never get the chance to see Liam again.
“I...I'm so sorry. Things aren't much better here. Gram's passed away, which is why I'm here, and everything else is just such a mess...”
“I wish I could stay and catch up,” Arabella began, then suddenly her face lit up. “Why don't you come to the coronation? That way we can catch up, and it would be the perfect surprise for Henry! You know he always had a liking for you, right? They both did actually...”
“Wait a sec, I thought outsiders weren't allowed to Starloch. Liam and I argued about it all the time. And anyway, there really isn't a way...”
Arabella flashed me a devilish grin, then closed her eyes, concentrating hard on something. She muttered something to herself and a moment later the mirror began to ripple, as if someone dropped a pebble into a perfectly still pond. Then her hand came through. “I'm the princess, I do what I want. Do you want to come to Starloch or what?”
