A World Apart

By Lisa Wright

Twelve-year-old Lindsay Wexler hopes her family will finally put down roots when they inherit Great-Uncle Eldridge's bookstore in upstate New York. She could never have guessed that those roots extend all the way into another world; a world where a banished magic has been reawakened and is tearing the world apart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lisa Wright
• Release date: Jul 14, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458155719

Book preview

A WORLD APART

by

Lisa Wright

Published by Lisa Wright Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 Lisa Wright

Cover design and image by Diane Tomczak

For Jeff, always

A WORLD APART

by

Lisa Wright

Prologue

Eldridge Tetla closed the velvet cover of the book and clicked its ornate clasp shut. I believe I've figured it out, Samara, he announced. He sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his well-trimmed beard. A single lamp shed a warm circle of light over the desk. The enormous autumn-colored cat curled up in a shallow box beside the book raised his head and blinked at Eldridge.

No, really, Bear, the man insisted. It can be done. I can do it. You see I was going about it all wrong. My gravest mistake was in forgetting where it is. I kept searching for a scientific method.

The cat sat up and yawned exposing the washboard roof of its tiny mouth. He tucked in his chin and tilted his head to signal his interest. Eldridge skritched between the cat's ears. I must be getting old, Bear. Perhaps I have simply lived too long in this world, Eldridge complained. He got up and peered out of the window through the slats of the blinds. Main Street was bright with fluorescent street lights. Nothing moved in the predawn stillness. It was as good a little town as any in which to live. Better than most. Philana never would listen when he tried to explain that it wasn't where you lived that was important. It was a shame really that she thought by moving away from her home she could move away from all the rest. Still, he thought, there was something missing here, something fundamental.

The cat stretched before alighting from the desk with a weighty clunk. Graceful had never been a term applied to Samara: his nickname, Bear, suited him well. Graceful or not, Samara understood Eldridge better than anyone alive. Certainly better than his mother ever had or his sister, Lyndaan, or even his niece, Philana, who refused to acknowledge . . . Well it didn't matter now. He smiled at his cat.

It's magic, Bear. The whole procedure is pure, brilliant magic! Science has nothing to do with it. To think that all this time I had everything I needed right here. He tapped the birthmark on the palm of his hand. And I'll tell you something, Bear, this mark not only gives me the ability, it gives me the right, whatever Mother and Philana said.

Maow, Samara declared with a throw of his head.

Ridiculous, Eldridge replied. He returned to his chair and carefully placed the book into the shallow wooden box. It fit perfectly, as it had been designed to. He closed the lid and frowned. Why should I be bound by those ancient promises? Think of all the good I could do, Bear, if I only had a tiny fragment of the stone. I can't be responsible for mistakes made in the past, can I?

Samara heaved his bulk onto Eldridge's lap. He bumped his head into the bearded chin. Eldridge rubbed the furry head with his stubbly beard. No, Bear, you can't come with me this time. It could be dangerous. Not that I expect any danger, he added quickly. But if I understand the book correctly, there is no hiding the existence of Gaiastone once it has been gathered. You can hide its location, but not its existence. I don't believe that there is anyone left who would recognize the signs--there aren't many who know I exist--but you never know. The cat butted his chin sharply and he chuckled. Oh, all right, there are one or two, but they're on my side! Don't worry. Eldridge Tetla looked his cat in the eye. I'll be back, he said. I am not so easy to get rid of. You should know that by now. Haven't I always returned before? Now come along. There are things I need to do.

The cat followed him into the kitchen where he filled one large bowl with dry cat food and another with water. Now don't be a pig, Samara. I might be gone longer than expected and Selma wouldn't think to check on you until Monday. He took a last look at the boxed volume. I think I had better leave this here. Just in case, he muttered. It has told me all I need to know already. The cat followed him down the stairs into the dark shadows of the bookstore. Light from the street lamps poured through the plate-glass windows making the shadows darker still. They circled the long counter and continued around into the farthest sliver of patchy darkness. Eldridge stopped before a narrow set of bookshelves built against an outer wall. He turned his palms toward the shelves, murmured a series of phrases, and waited while the shelves slid forward. He stepped through the opening into darkness.

Samara merred as the shelves slid back into place.

Chapter One

Is that it? Elliot demanded from beside Lindsay in the back seat. He pointed a finger sticky with chocolate toward a long, two-story, yellow wooden building. A branch-shaped sign across the front proclaimed it to be A WORLD APART.

Lindsay breathed a sigh of relief. It certainly didn't look as creepy as she had expected--at least not from the outside. The way her mother had described it, Lindsay had thought it would be dark, cramped and possibly haunted. And if her mother had thought it was weird--well, Lindsay had been dreading what she might find. She had pictured herself fighting her way through a century's worth of cobwebs to get through the door. But A World Apart looked so normal! It looked bright and airy and somehow welcoming--at least from a block away.

She glanced over at her mother, riding in the front seat next to her dad. A thick swoosh of the same reddish-brown hair as Lindsay's had come loose from the knot at the back of her head to hide all but a fraction of her mother's face. Still, Lindsay could make out that neutral expression that her mother always wore when she was especially upset, but didn't want anyone to know. It was the same expression she had worn when that article had come out in the Sacramento Tribune about her garden. You would have thought that the article was accusing her of some awful crime instead of calling her a shy woman with an almost magical way with plants. What was so terrible about people knowing she was a great gardener? They had moved to Arizona not long after that. It didn't matter to Dad. He was happy wherever they lived. He liked changing jobs. One of these days, I might find the right one, he always said.

Mom's pretending that everything is fine, Lindsay thought, but it isn't. She should be excited about going home after so many years. Other people would be excited about going home to visit relatives. But that was the problem: her mother was never like other people and there weren't actually any relatives left. But this was where she grew up with her uncle and her grandmother. This was home. It's almost like she's afraid of the bookstore, Lindsay said to herself.

Elliot was still yammering about the building. All his words and sentences ran together in one long breathless rush. Is that our bookstore? It looks neat! Do we have the whole upstairs to ourselves? Hey, look! There are some kids my age up the block. Do we have to unpack right away? I want to find the ball field. Can we, Dad, huh?"

Lindsay's dad laughed. Yes, yes, no and no in that order. Let's at least get the stuff out of the car and into the apartment before you enroll in the local ball club, Elliot. Aren't you even a little bit curious to see the bookstore where your mother grew up?

It's full of books, right?

Afraid so, Mr. Wexler replied. But it is very, very old. He turned the car into the narrow driveway that separated the bookstore from the thrift shop next door.

Books are books, Dad, Elliot said in a voice that left no question how he felt about them. I already have tons of books Great-Uncle Eldridge sent me for my birthday and Christmas. Under his breath he added every single year--more books. And I only learned to read last year!

Lindsay couldn't help herself. Maybe if you read a book once in awhile you'd find out that there is more to life than baseball!

And maybe if you'd keep your big fat nose out of my business . . .

Elliot . . . their dad warned. Mrs. Wexler shot a look of disapproval at Lindsay. She always took Elliot's side.

The back of the building was exceptionally plain. It was very tall with windows scattered seemingly at random and a single door in the lower right corner which stood ajar. There wasn't a single building like it in all of Arizona that Lindsay could think of. The hard-packed dirt parking lot was edged with raised flowerbeds that held only a few scraggily asters. Mom must have taken all of the growing know-how with her when she left, Lindsay thought. Her heart sank a bit. All her mother needed to do was look at a plant to have it bloom and grow. It was like magic the way things grew when her mother was around--too much like magic. Sooner or later, people would start to talk; they always did. Then kids would start looking at Lindsay funny again.

A dark curly head peeked around the edge of the door. A questioning look on the broad coffee-colored face gave way to a slowly spreading smile.

Who's that, Mom? Lindsay asked.

Her father replied. It must be Selma Hatcher. She's been managing the place for your Uncle Eldridge. I believe she's been with the store for years. Isn't that right, Philana?

Lindsay's mother nodded. She turned up the corners of her mouth in an unconvincing smile that never reached her eyes. Well, we're here, she said, as if there was any question. Elliot was already out of the car, confirming Ms Hatcher's identity and racing into the store like the six-year-old he was. Lindsay followed at what she considered a more mature pace appropriate to her age of nearly twelve years old.

Selma Hatcher waved them inside. Come in! Come in! We'll get the bags later. Come and see your new home, or maybe I should say your old home. Her eyes lit up and then began to fill with tears when she saw Lindsay's mom. My, Philana! (May I call you Philana?) You are the image of your uncle Eldridge. It is quite astonishing.

This time Mrs. Wexler's smile did reach her eyes. She gave Ms Hatcher a hug. Lindsay felt her muscles relax. It might be okay after all. Mom must just have been nervous like the rest of us, she decided.

The back door opened into a closet-sized office. The bookstore, itself, was visible through a second door, opposite the first. A hulking metal desk was buried beneath an avalanche of papers, fliers, and brightly colored catalogues. Lindsay spotted the glow of a computer screen beaming like a shy friend from underneath a mass of paperwork. Stairs led up on the left to a small landing.

Selma Hatcher herded the family through the doorway into the back of the store. I think you'll be amazed at the changes, Philana. Your uncle spent the ten years since your grandmother died dragging this old dinosaur of a building into the twentieth century--and all without a stick of new lumber! I've never seen anything like it, she said shaking her head. He tore down the old walls and rebuilt them with the very same lumber. And this from a man who thought recycling was a sport! I guess he didn't want to lose the historic charm. Although, I've always felt that most of the charm of this place came from Eldridge himself.

The bookstore was so . . . Lindsay tried to think of a word to describe it. It was so full! Everything in Arizona had always been spacious. That's what her mother called it anyway. Spacious. A World Apart was full. Elaborate shelves, painted a pale yellow, rose from the wooden floor to the high ceilings forming inviting nooks. Row after row of bookshelves as tall as Lindsay's father formed diagonal aisles to fill the center of the space. A long counter, backed against a half-wall, formed an island that separated a final sliver of the store from the main portion.

A rotund, blond man in a pullover sweater broke away from an elderly customer to join them. He was closely followed by a thin, college-aged woman in wildly bright clothes who emerged from one of the nooks with her arms full of books. Large penguin earrings dangled from her ears beneath short, spiky black hair.

Edwin, Faye, come and meet the new owners, Selma said. These are the Tetlas . . . Oh! Excuse me, I mean the Wexlers. Philana is Eldridge's niece--his only living relative as far as I know. This is Mr. Wexler . . .

Call me Howard, please.

Lindsay broke away as soon as she could to explore the bookstore she had heard so little about. It didn't seem at all mysterious in the middle of a sunny afternoon. The front of the store was nearly all windows. There was a dress shop across Main Street and an antique store between that and one of those old-fashioned diners that looks like a metal trailer, but isn't. She circled the long counter that separated off the final wedge from the main store and stopped. Halfway down this narrow strip, a knobbly tree trunk rose along the outer wall before stretching a long leafy arm across the ceiling. It was like the entrance to a secret world.

Lindsay reached out a hand to touch the tree. It looked so real! Her fingers grazed the trunk. She felt a small shock as a young voice called out: Don't touch that! The voice came from beyond the tree. A forest of spin racks filled with familiar kids' paperbacks hid the speaker. Shelves full of picturebooks and other childrens' books lined the two walls. Lindsay entered the thicket of literary trees. Enthroned on a windowseat at the very back, was a boy who looked to be about ten-years-old, with a large science book balanced on his lap. He scowled at her.

Who are you? Lindsay demanded.

I'm James, he replied as if that should have been obvious even to her. I work here. You're not supposed to touch the tree.

I can touch it if I want. It belonged to my Great-Uncle Eldridge and now it belongs to my parents, Lindsay said. Then the boy's words sank in. You can't work here. You're just a kid!

Well I do, he said with a haughty sniff. He was kind of skinny and pale and dressed way too neatly for a kid. He gave Lindsay the creeps. When she did not reply but only stared at him, he continued. Ask Ms Hatcher if you don't believe me. She's the Manager. He stretched out the word until it sounded as important as The President of the United States.

Humph! Lindsay spun on her heels nearly smashing into her mother who had come up behind her. Selma Hatcher was beside her. Ms Hatcher!

Call me Selma, please.

Lindsay grimaced. It never felt right calling someone as old as Ms Hatcher by their first name. She spied James out of the corner of her eye and remembered her question. That boy back there says he works here.

Oh, good, then you've met James. I expect you two will be great friends.

Lindsay glared back at James. Friends with him? She thought. Not in this lifetime! But does he work here? She could see that her mother wanted to know the answer, too. Before Selma Hatcher had a chance to answer, Elliot skidded around the corner into his mother.

Does who work here? he asked. "Is there somebody else who works here? Where are they?