Trappings of Youth

By Ashley James

Isabella and Ashlyn discover they are rare witches known as Caligaries. Life has never been easy for Isabella, but with Ashlyn by her side she is able to survive. When tragedy hits Isabella, they find themselves in too deep and lose control of their powers. Having to hide what they did, they go their separate ways, never speaking to each other and never using magic. 10 years go by, and now something, or someone wants them back together. Now, they will have to face what they have done. Will they be able to fight this evil that is forcing them to use the one thing they swore they would never use again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashley James
• Release date: Mar 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370419869

Ashley James

Ashley James is a lifelong fan of fantasy novels. She currently resides in Western Washington with her husband, 3 boys, and 2 dogs. As a writer, Ashley is devoted to giving her readers a place to escape to in her books. She wants her readers to dive into her characters world and feel like they are involved in the story.

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Copyright © 2017 by Ashley James

Cover photo by Jeremy Bishop

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Also by Ashley James:

Secrets of Ullumia

Secrets of Ullumia: The Past Revealed

Trappings of Youth

Ashley James

Acknowledgments:

To my beta readers. Thank you for the quick reads that I ask you to do on short deadlines that I tend to give myself. You all have been amazing and give me such honest, blunt feedback, that you know I love.

To my sons. You boys are my everything and the reason I breath and fight daily. You are such an inspiration to me and I can’t wait to see the men you grow up to be.

Prologue

Before I moved to Crawford, my life was very dark. There were nights that I didn’t think I would survive, whether from being beaten to death or from hunger. I guess that made me a fighter; a survivor. Most kids who grow up around drugs, alcohol, and violence tend to embrace those tendencies. Then there are those of us who fight. Those of us who want better for our lives and believe that we are destined for more than a mere tortured existence. I believed I was going to do great things in this world. I had to believe that, if I didn’t, that would mean all my suffering was for nothing.

Mom was getting ready to move us again, and this time it felt different. I wasn’t sure why, but something in me was getting excited about this move. It was always unclear what situation she was bringing us in to, but something in me knew this time it was going to be different. This was the beginning of my story.

~Isabella~

The sun is just coming up over the fields. The long stretches of road and darkness make me feel like I have been driving for days rather than hours, making the drive seem ten times longer than it was. I haven’t been on these roads in ten years. I wish I could say that I am excited to go back home, but I am not. A better word for it would be terrified. I have avoided going home and the people from my past, yet, here I am; heading back to a place I swore I would never return.

As, the sun is slowly rising, I can’t help but think of how beautiful it is. You can see for miles and the colors are breathtaking. It’s like the sky is singing in a symphony of colors and the whole world is its stage.

The wheat fields are just barely out of harvest, cut low and a gorgeous suntanned color. Most people might not appreciate how beautiful it is, but I love how the lay of the land looks right after harvest and the beginning of fall. The contrast of the sunrise and the field puts a smile on my face. This time, it’s no different.

I notice that I am smiling and quickly stop myself. It’s like I can’t allow myself to be happy any longer, or enjoy even the small things in life. I don’t deserve any kind of happiness.

I shake off the pity party that I so often throw for myself and try to only focus on the drive. I turn up the radio and try to find a song that I can get lost in. Out here, there aren’t a whole lot of stations and, I swear, every station has a commercial playing. It’s like they plan that out just to piss people off. Makes me miss having Sirius radio, though I can’t afford such luxuries, now. Not that I could ever really afford it, but getting a year free was nice.

Another small town comes up into view. Memories of playing sports at the school flood in. That is the one thing I do miss about high school. Playing sports was always so much fun. I was pretty good, but I could have been better if I possessed the drive and someone to push me. I loved playing so much, but it wasn’t something that I put my heart and soul into. It was more of an escape, a bit of normalcy and a distraction from what my life was. I didn’t have the best childhood. In fact, it was pretty shitty. No child should have to endure the mess that I grew up with; I thought my life was doomed from the start.

It wasn’t until I moved to Crawford that I felt safe, as if this town, these people, would be my protector. I was eight years old when I moved here. You wouldn’t think so much would happen to someone in their first eight years of life, but my life was hell until we moved to Crawford. This is where I met Ashlyn; my everything, my twin, and my lifeline.

***Isabella: Age 8***

I hate moving so much, my mom always has us on the run like we are fleeing from the law or something. My mom doesn’t seem to mind, though. She always has a place lined up for us, usually with a boyfriend or a friend of hers. There were a couple of times when we had to stay in a shelter, but it was always safe, and they had tv’s in the common areas with cartoons for us kids to watch.

My mom is a very outgoing person. Mom loves to drink, dance, and do karaoke. She always seems to have a lot of friends wherever we end up; and guy after guy. She isn’t horrible looking; her hair is red, thin, and stick straight, that rests at the top of her shoulders. Mom never does anything with it, usually. It is always down, but seems to be in pretty good shape. She has piercing blue eyes, I would say that is her most attractive feature. Small lips with lines from years of smoking. She looks a little older than her actual age. I have always assumed it is because she has had a rough life; you can see it in her energy. Mom is short and thin, though not fit. She is an okay mom and by okay I mean she keeps us alive.

Mom doesn’t really pay attention to us kids unless she is lonely and between boyfriends. She makes us watch scary movies with her, but other than that, she is always busy with work, guys, or her friends. Mom went through a few rough years of heavy drugs. I remember when I was about four years old there were always razors and mirrors with powder on them on our coffee table, but I never went near any of it. I tried to stay with my brother, Adam, following him around like a lost puppy. I never thought much about mom not giving us kids much attention. It felt normal to me, because all her friends treated their kids that same way.

This is going to be my sixth school in the past three years. I am not certain if this is normal, but I’m pretty sure it’s not. It is already hard enough for me to make friends; I feel like I am awkward and can’t get attached to anyone, because we will most likely be moving again in a few months. This new town is smaller than the others. We never move to cities, just small towns, and Crawford is tiny. I guess this will be my new home, for a while anyways.

Mom has a new boyfriend, James, we just moved in with him. He is nice and at least keeps his hands to himself; unlike many of mom’s other boyfriends. Mom didn’t protect me from those dark nights, but Adam tried. There was a period of time that I didn’t think we would make it. Adam did his best to protect us, but when you are a child trying to fight off a grown man, the odds aren’t usually in your favor.

The year and a half my mom was with Darren was scary, and I prayed mom would take us out of that situation. Bruises, sleepless nights, and going to bed hungry was not what any parent should allow or want for their children. Teachers never did anything, and we were too scared to talk about it for the fear he would find out.

When mom was finally brave enough to leave, she packed us up while he was at work one day, and we moved two states away. I knew that she was scared he would find us. I was, too, but so far, he has not found us, and Adam and I are safe.

James drinks a lot, like the others, so I continue to keep my guard up. I am used to being hit and abused, so it is nice to have a break from that sort of environment. James is kind, never fake or mean to us and he makes sure we are always fed, full, and warm. I hope mom will keep him around forever.

Driving to school this morning was intimidating. I wonder what it will be like and if I will make any friends on the first day. We are already late, nothing out of the normal for us. When mom oversees getting us somewhere, I know that we won’t be on time. I really don’t want to walk into a classroom, late, and have everyone stare at me, it’s just too embarrassing.

The ladies are nice, in the office, where Adam and I get enrolled for our individual classrooms. The school is small, which I like, not much to it, which means there is nowhere to get lost. There are two halls; one hall heads to the high/junior-high section of the school and the other hall heads towards the elementary section of the school. One of the secretaries walks us down to the classroom I will be in, and the other secretary shows my brother the way to his class.

The secretary that walks me to my classroom is Candice. She is very short and round; not fat in any way, she simply has a round shape to her. Her face is pleasantly kind and you couldn’t help but smile when you look at her. She has short black hair, peppered with grey. Very kind, dark eyes that invite you in for a hug. Her voice is soft and light, a voice you could fall asleep to while she reads you a bedtime story. I really like her, I think to myself.

I hate being separated from my brother. He always handles the new schools well. He makes friends easily, but he also makes enemies just as quick. I guess it is because he is very protective of me, so if he thinks someone is picking on me, he is right there, ready to kick their ass in my defense. This one time, Adam broke a kid’s nose and kicked him in the nuts because the kid pulled my hair and spit on me. I am very protective of him, as well, but not to that extreme. It’s not easy being mixed, either. We aren’t growing up in a horribly racist time, but there are racists out there and kids who try to hurt our feelings by calling us names. It never bothers me much, but it really pisses my brother off. He is a little darker than me, but still has a pretty light skin tone. Adam has the black curly afro hair and dark brown eyes. His lips were full, like mine, and he has such a contagious smile. He is hard not to get along with, so I never understand why some boys don’t like him.

As we approach the classroom, I can feel my heart beating faster. I am so nervous, and I know that everyone is going to stare. I have put on my best outfit to impress. I have on black leggings, a hot pink mini-skirt, and my Tasmanian Devil T-shirt. I am looking pretty good.

We walk in the classroom and, just as I expect, everyone turns and looks . . . or stare, rather. All I can do is look down because I don’t want to make eye contact with anyone.

The teacher walks over to my mom and Candice, they exchange some greetings. The teacher introduces herself to me.

Hi, Isabella, I am Mrs. Granger. It’s very nice to meet you, she says with a smile. She is older and very short, just a couple inches taller than me. She reminds me of the nursery rhyme, Old Mother Hubbard. She has grey streaks through her auburn hair, looking to be well into her sixties.

I give her a smile, barely lifting my head to look at her.

Class, this is Isabella. She just moved here from Harrison. Everyone, say hi! She was a little too enthusiastic about this, and I was utterly embarrassed.

Everyone responds in unison, Hi Isabella!

I just wave my hand in the direction of the other students. Mrs. Granger escorts me to an empty desk. There are only twelve students in the classroom, which is nice because it isn’t too overwhelming.

Isabella, we are just finishing up with math. Why don’t you just sit and listen? We will get you all set up at break. Mrs. Granger turns back to the board and picks up where she left off. My mom waves goodbye and walks out. All the kids are looking in their book and following along with the teacher. It is super awkward to just sit here with nothing to do. I look around at the other students, some keep looking at me and smile when I catch them, that helps me feel more relaxed.

After what feels like an eternity, but was only twenty minutes, the bell rings for break. The kids quickly put their books away and get up to line up at the door as I awkwardly sit here, not knowing what to do. The teacher walks up to my desk and smiles. They are going to head to art, but I will have you stay here and we will get all your books and get you set up. She smells like old lady perfume, but it isn’t too overpowering.

We get all my books, gather all the supplies I will need, and I set up my desk. I am taking my time, because I don’t want to walk into art class late and have everyone look at me again, even though I love art. I am pretty good at drawing, it helps me escape my own mind sometimes. I must have gotten that talent from my grandmother, she was a great artist. She would draw mermaids, fairies, unicorns, and lots of other mythical stuff. She was so talented, I don’t know why she never sold any of