A Trip to Elsewhere

By Kacie Iuvara

Ariana Langley and Jason Poole must bring about the end of the world.

Ariana Langley is a grumpy daydreamer just waiting to grow up. Jason Poole is a thief who doesn't really do the whole "feelings" thing. A shoplifting bust lands Jason a job at the mysterious Here-And-There antique store, which happens to be owned by

• Language: English
• Publisher: New Degree Press
• Release date: Sep 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798885042109

Book preview

Chapter 1

Sors’orsa

Just after breakfast, Sors’orsa predicted the end of the world.

It all started deep in the belly of a cave. Torches glowed softly, painting flickering shadows on the stone walls. Mushrooms and moss dotted the rocks. And right at the cave’s center loomed Sors’orsa’s cottage.

Well, sort of cottage. To call the little shack things like cottage or house or reasonable living conditions might have been generous. It was old and moldy, cobbled together with crooked nails that stuck out at odd angles. This gave the whole structure the appearance of sagging into the ground.

Sors’orsa didn’t care, though. Mostly because he was blind. Also because he generally despised visitors.

He crossed his droopy porch, and the old wood planks groaned unhappily.

Another slow day, he noted. Thank the Age-Olds.

Yes, besides being blind and hating people, Sors’orsa was a prophet. And, as a prophet, Sors’orsa knew things. He knew no strangers would visit today, or the rest of the week for that matter. He knew that, unless fate butted in, he would spend a peaceful afternoon doing his chores: gardening, sweeping, and hanging decorative bones. The usual.

He stumbled.

For an instant, his head flashed cold, as if someone had forced it into a bucket of ice water.

Yes! he thought. Finally!

Sors’orsa scuttled inside. In seconds, he was scratching furiously on a sheet of parchment. Despite his haste and blindness, he knew his handwriting looked impeccably neat. Visitors often asked how a blind senior citizen could manage simple tasks like writing and reading and glowering and such. His answer was always that he was a prophet, obviously, and they should be less rude with the questions.

He finished with a final dot and contemplated the page. He blinked.

Oh, come on, he complained.

Recently, the prophet Infidus, Sors’orsa’s bitterest rival, had proclaimed a Great Prophecy of the Rise of Shadows and the End of Life as we Know It. Much too wordy for Sors’orsa’s taste. He hadn’t believed the deceitful old swindler for one minute until other prophets began speaking out. Before long, everyone and their sister had their own end-of-the-world prophecy—long, beautiful, complicated fortunes full of mystery and intrigue.

All except Sors’orsa.

Now, Sors’orsa’s typical prophecies weren’t known for their pomp or pizzazz. Normally, they went something like:

The prophet’s favorite glowing mushroom will die because he is a bad gardener.

And now, after waiting for days, weeks, months, the Universe finally delivered him a genuine end-of-the-world prediction.

And this was it?

Typical fate. It crafted a dozen stunning prophecies, and Sors’orsa got the crummy afterthought.

End of the world. Priorities, Sors’orsa reminded himself. He considered Infidus and the other prophets with their epic declarations of the end of days. Shadows will reign. Ancient bonds will shatter. The war of old, the Great Divide, will begin anew. All mysterious and poetical, and yet…

None of them mentioned the other world.

Sors’orsa considered his paper again. This prophecy contained two names—two rather odd names, so odd they could only originate from one place: the Real World.

Not good, Sors’orsa muttered.

Perhaps there was more to this prophecy than Sors’orsa understood. Perhaps, if he was either very lucky or very unlucky, this was the most important prophecy of them all.

Ariana Langley and Jason Poole must bring about the end of the world.

Chapter 2

Ariana

The last day of Ariana Langley’s normal life started out, well, normal.

See ya later, loser!

"No way, uh—loserest loser!"

Lazy summer mornings were hardly ever lazy for the Langleys. This particular morning, Cowen and Gemma Langley, the resident eight-year-old twin tornadoes, had just launched into a bunny hop race around the kitchen table.

"Cowen, Gemma, please sit down," said tall and willowy Mrs. Langley, who was currently balancing three cereal boxes and a steaming bowl of oatmeal in her hands.

I’m gonna win! shouted Cowen, shoving his glasses up his nose.

You wish! yelled Gemma. She karate-chopped Cowen in the neck.

Gemma and Cowen Langley! bellowed red-faced Mr. Langley, who up until this point had simply been attempting to reach the coffee machine without having breakfast food spilled down his work clothes.

The last Langley in the kitchen was Ariana. Smack in the middle of the chaos, she sat at the table, scribbling into a purple journal with such intense concentration that her nose kept touching the page:

Then the two fairies started stuffing acorns in the fridge and yelling, For science! and…

"Anyway, I told her—Ariana, please pay attention."

Huh?

Ariana glanced up, then jumped. Mr. Langley stood in front of her, tapping his foot. Hastily, she fumbled her journal shut before her dad could peek inside.

Okay, okay, I’m listening, she said. Um, but maybe say everything you just said one more time.

Mr. Langley sighed, folding his hands in a businesslike manner. The gesture made a lot of sense, coming from a bank manager. "Aunt Susan needs help at the shop today. That deadbeat employee of hers went and quit so he could join a tango class. Tango!"

The way he said the word, he might as well have been talking about violent crime. He took a moment to settle his temper.

Anyway, she needs extra help until she can replace him, and I told her you’d work.

Hey, cool, thanks for asking me, said Ariana.

You’re welcome, said Mr. Langley. Then his face blotched red. I mean, I don’t appreciate the sarcasm!

Ariana blew a lock of sandy hair from her face, trying not to wrinkle her nose. Her dad didn’t appreciate a lot of things, like backtalk, fairytales, and recreational dance, apparently. And, since Ariana didn’t appreciate getting a lecture before noon, she said, "Fiiine, okay, I’ll help out at the shop."

At least it’s Aunt Susan, she thought. Being thirteen, she’d never exactly had a day job, but she couldn’t imagine a better boss than her favorite aunt. Not to mention, Aunt Susan’s shop was, well, peculiar.

Speaking of peculiar… She flipped her journal back open.

Her father grunted disapprovingly. Nonsense as usual.

Ariana finished the last few lines of her dream: Then I scared the fairies away with some sick knife-twirling skills. It was awesome. The end. By this point, the living room had become the new center of hustle and bustle. Ariana peered in just long enough to see Mr. Langley bellow, No throwing shoes! as a light-up sneaker bounced off his temple.

Then he noticed Ariana looking and snapped, Hurry it up!

Ah, summer mornings. So relaxing.

Hurrying it up, Ariana jogged upstairs and tucked her journal in her bedroom—in a maximum-security dresser drawer, of course. She hid all her craziest dreams and sketches there, and if her parents saw them? Yikes. They’d probably ship her off to some Turn Your Kids Normal summer camp or something.

Right as she went to shut the drawer, Ariana hesitated. For a heartbeat, she imagined another world, one where fantasy and magic were allowed, accepted.

Yeeeah, not likely. She rolled her eyes and reminded herself: This is kid stuff. I’m gonna grow out of it.

Downstairs, the rest of the Langleys had migrated to the garage, except one. Ariana met them there, passing her mother on the way out.

You coming? asked Ariana, mostly out of habit.

Mrs. Langley sighed and clicked her tongue. See you later, dear.

Then she went back to fidgeting nervously like she always did around doors and windows. Mrs. Langley suffered from a horrible fear of everywhere. Or at least, everywhere except home. It made zero sense to Ariana, but by now, she’d learned not to question her parents’ logic.

Ariana and the twins piled into Mr. Langley’s little blue car. Gemma and Cowen had already started a new game, one that consisted exclusively of slapping each other.

Ariana! exclaimed Cowen, smacking Gemma across the face. You wanna play?

"Ahem."

Cowen’s mouth snapped shut in perfect harmony with Gemma thwacking his cheek. Mr. Langley had opened the car door, looking expectantly at his oldest daughter.

It wasn’t me, Ariana blurted out.

Mr. Langley wisely chose to ignore this. He folded his hands. Ariana, you’ll be fourteen in a few weeks. Practically an adult.

Ariana wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. Then again, her dad generally saved his best jokes for the coffee machine at the bank.

That’s kind of true.

Come and sit in the front.

Gemma and Cowen gaped at her. None of them ever rode in the passenger seat. It wasn’t like they weren’t allowed; they just preferred to sit with each other. Even so, Ariana knew better than to say no to Mr. Langley on a Monday.

She slipped out from between Gemma and Cowen, trying to ignore their eyes on her back. Once she’d strapped into the passenger seat, situating Mr. Langley’s work supplies safely on her lap, the car tottered down the driveway and onto the street.

There, said Mr. Langley, seeming pleased with himself. Much better, right? Practically a grown-up.

Ariana’s not a grown-up, laughed Cowen.

Yeah, ew, said Gemma.

"Not ew! Mr. Langley blustered. Growing up is an essential— Your sister is—"

Totally an adult, Ariana promised swiftly. Yep, that’s me. Super adulty.

Shockingly, Mr. Langley didn’t look convinced.

Hmph. These kids need maturity, he was still grumbling as the car rolled into park outside a neighbor’s house. The twin’s babysitter waved through the glass front door, holding two thick textbooks under his other arm.

Cowen and Gemma groaned. Mr. Langley nodded. "Maturity."

He and Ariana drove away, leaving Cowen and Gemma to face their daily dose of summer tutoring. Predictably, without the twins, the car ride turned awkward. Occasionally Mr. Langley would remark on staplers or his laptop’s sticky shift key, and Ariana would struggle to respond. Mostly, they just sat in silence.

Here we are, said Mr. Langley at last.

Ariana clicked open the door. She’d clambered about halfway to freedom when her dad added, Oh, and one more thing. He fixed her with a meaningful look. Try to work hard today. You’re so distracted with all these dreams and that fantasy nonsense. Your mom and I have been understanding, but you’re getting older. It’s about time you act like it.

A lump formed in Ariana’s throat. She thought of her dream journal, and shame welled up inside her. For years, she’d been waiting for her brain to snap into adult mode, for all the kid stuff to suddenly become boring and silly. No such luck.

Right, she said. I’ll try.

Ariana hopped out onto the curb. Her dad called, Have a responsible day! as the tiny blue car rolled out of sight.

A busy little street sat in front of her, clustered with quaint shops and cafés. Her aunt’s building, the Here-and-There Antique Shop, loomed directly at the street corner.

Of all the places to normalize your kid, Ariana’s dad may have picked the worst spot.

With its cracks and towering windows, Here-and-There exuded spooky haunted house vibes. It would have looked right at home in an old horror movie, like someone had snatched the building out of history and plopped it into suburbia. A hand-painted sign on the front doorknob read, Oh Darn! We’re Closed.

Ariana trotted through the double front doors and, like usual, went instantly blind.

Inside, Here-and-There’s atmosphere was much cheerier. Aunt Susan had done her best to counteract the building’s creepy exterior with sunny yellow walls and sparkling white shelves. Dazzling fluorescents illuminated the rows of antiques, though the many mismatched lamps for sale tinted everything golden.

Aunt Susan? Ariana called, squinting as her eyes adjusted.

There’s my favorite oldest niece! came a voice, and Aunt Susan appeared from behind a lemon-colored curtain. You’re a lifesaver, lady.

Ariana grinned. Naturally, Aunt Susan’s appearance was even stranger than her store.

Today’s ensemble featured zigzagging black and yellow jeans, a vintage band T-shirt, and the usual dozen piercings crammed into her ears, nose, and tongue. Her hair was wild and choppy, like the stylist had decided to test their skills with safety scissors and a blindfold. Ariana could only imagine how her dad and Susan had come from the same household. It probably explained why her dad had high blood pressure.

Lifesaver? Ariana flashed a set of finger guns, which totally would have made her parents roll their eyes. Oh please, just call me your hero.

And so humble! Aunt Susan snorted.

She approached a line of hanging aprons and chose one with rainbow polka dots. You know, to tie the look together. Then she beckoned Ariana behind the counter.

All right, my hero. It’s time I introduce you to the wonderful world of cash registers.

With that, Aunt Susan started explaining various register buttons, and Ariana zoned out.

Okay, so she probably should’ve listened. But she couldn’t help it! Real life just got so boring sometimes.

Along with her mind, Ariana’s eyes drifted too, wandering the rows of ancient watches, broken clocks, and dusty dolls. She imagined something magical hidden inside them. A demon in disguise? A map leading to an all-vampire school? Oh yeah, that one would be cool.

Somewhere in the back of her head, her father’s voice piped up: You’re getting older. It’s about time you act like it.

She chewed her cheek. Really great advice, Dad, she thought. Really helpful. She wanted to be normal, but she just…wasn’t.

Ariana sighed. At the very least, she was a big reader. She knew all the best heroes started with boring lives too. Especially ones with incredible powers or who found themselves in the middle of tragic romances.

Naturally, that was the moment. That was when it started.

Voices, voices rustling like leaves, breathing like whispering wind…

Something scratchy fell over her head.

Agh!

Wake up, mopey.

Ariana tore the apron off her face, realizing she’d frozen, staring out into space.

I’m not mopey, she said, miffed. "What was that?"

An apron, hun.

"Not that, the— Ariana cut off as she took in the apron’s violently flowery pattern. Aaah. No thanks."

Laughing, Aunt Susan mussed Ariana’s hair and strolled to the front doors.

I meant, what were those voices? Ariana called after her.

Voices? Aunt Susan pulled open the doors, then turned to raise an eyebrow. "Like, voices voices?"

You didn’t hear anyone, did you? Ariana realized. Which means it was just my imagination being dumb again, she thought. To cover her slip-up, she added, I think you’re going deaf.

Aunt Susan snorted. "Or your brain is elsewhere."

And with a cheerful wave toward a neighboring shopkeeper, Aunt Susan flipped her sign to Hooray! We’re Open.

Before long, Ariana thought she could understand what a lazy summer morning might feel like. Customers drifted in and out, mostly stopping by to visit Aunt Susan. A couple of hours in, Ariana began pressing absently on the antique register’s broken key. Tap tap tap tap.

Her mind slipped back to her dream. Fairies in her kitchen. If only. Although fairies might not have been the right word for the little creatures.

Don’t break the register, Ariana!

Ariana jolted back to reality. Looking down, she realized her taps on the broken key had evolved into something more like punching.

Oops.

Aunt Susan smiled understandingly. You must be getting bored. How about we…

Voices, voices murmuring like a brook, whispering like ghosts, saying…something…

What? Ariana asked loudly.

A second later, she realized she was talking to no one.

Lunch? said Aunt Susan uncertainly. I asked if you wanted lunch. But, uh, you good, my hero?

Aaah, was Ariana’s genius reply. She couldn’t think straight. Not when, for the second time today, she’d heard voices.

Heard voices. She gulped.

No, there had to be an explanation. Maybe somebody had dropped their cellphone outside the back door, or some homeless guys were digging through the dumpster.

Helloooo! Ariana, come in, Ariana!

Good! Ariana burst out. She cleared her throat. Sorry. I just, uh, spaced out. Brain’s elsewhere. Again.

Aunt Susan relaxed, rolling her eyes. Girl, you daydream worse than a narcoleptic.

Yeah…

Ariana probably should have laughed it off and gone to lunch. But also, she really needed to know she wasn’t losing her mind.

I’ll take out the trash, she volunteered. She hefted the register’s garbage bag over her shoulder and smiled charmingly at Aunt Susan, who looked a little bemused. This is a thing normal employees do, right? Because that’s me, just a totally normal employeeee…

Look, she was stressed, okay?

Er, yeah, said Aunt Susan. Go crazy, kiddo.

Aunt Susan whisked a rag off the counter and started scrubbing an already-spotless baby grand piano. Ariana wheeled outside.

A little patch of woods sat in front of her, stretching out behind all the nearby shops. It was the closest thing the town had to an actual forest, though the wilderness effect was ruined by a huge, rusty dumpster.

Hello? she called, scanning the empty trees. Come on, where was that explanation? Is anybody there?

When no strange voices answered, Ariana bit her lip. They left, she thought. Some people were out here talking, but they left. That’s all.

Again, she definitely had room for concern here, but the more she thought about it, the less likely the whole hearing voices thing seemed. After all, she’d spent the morning thinking about fairies and vampires. This was all nothing but her weird brain acting up, as usual.

Satisfied with her logic, Ariana heaved the trash bag over the dumpster’s side and stepped on something.

"Whoa."

Underneath her shoe was a golden locket.

Chapter 3

Ariana

The last normal day of Ariana’s life had started out normally. But it didn’t end that way.

Ariana hopped backward. Summer sunshine pooled around the locket, sparkling down through the trees like a spotlight. Whorls and spirals decorated the pendant’s rim. An ethereal design coated its face, golden strands weaving together in an endless labyrinth.

It was perfect.

Ariana stared. Where did it come from? Who would’ve left it here? Would they want it back?

Whoever was talking before, she realized. The locket seemed to radiate waves of light, fuzzing her brain. They must’ve…must’ve dropped it or something.

In the back corner of her mind, a little voice spoke up: Unless the locket was doing the talking.

Ariana snorted, breaking out of her momentary trance. Yeah, okay, brain. Whatever you say, she thought.

Talking jewelry, she muttered, trying to roll her eyes, but her focus dropped back to the locket, and suddenly she was stuck, captivated again.

Open it. That’s what she should do. Hypnotized, Ariana reached down.

"Ouch!"

She jerked back, clutching her fingers. It burned her!

Well, it’s summer, she reasoned out loud. Yeah, it’s hot from the sun. Totally normal.

Ariana looked around, considering.

Hey, whoever you are! You dropped your locket! She waited a beat. Okay, I’m gonna take it!

She stooped down and slipped the locket into her shirt. Even wrapped in cloth, it felt uncomfortably warm.

Aunt Susan! she called, stepping awkwardly back indoors. Did you lose a locket?

Come again? Aunt Susan strolled around the counter, and her eyes popped open. "You found that?"

Yeah, and it’s really hot, said Ariana. Uh, from the sun.

Aunt Susan gawked at the locket a second too long. Then she jolted like her alarm had started buzzing.

I’ve got the perfect thing. She disappeared behind the lemon-colored curtain, returning a minute later with a smudged glass case. I just sold that yellow jade pendant. This should hold it.

Wait, said Ariana suddenly. She tried the lock through her shirt. "Agh, yep, that’s hot. And stuck."

She frowned. She couldn’t say why, but she’d been sure it would open.

She situated the locket carefully in the case, and Aunt Susan shut the lid. For a moment, they both just stared.

Dang, girl, said Aunt Susan at last. Forget my hero. I’m gonna call you Metal Detector.

That’s okay.

Aunt Susan laughed. I’ll ask around, see if anyone’s missing this. If not, I’d love to get it appraised, see if it’s antique.

What do you think is inside? Ariana wondered. Old pictures? A folded-up letter?

Guess we’ll see. Aunt Susan shrugged. Ah, well, let’s get that lunch.

One hour to go.

One hour too many, in Ariana’s opinion.

Today had been what they called in the antique business, mega slow. No offense to Aunt Susan, but Ariana was really starting to see the merits of her ex-employee’s tango class.

A grandfather clock read seven thirty-two. Aunt Susan was chatting with a balding man about the benefits of restoring antiques (while discreetly mentioning Here-and-There offered restorative services for only a small fee). A couple roamed the aisles, stopping to ooh and ahh. Ariana aimlessly clicked a pen.

She also stared at the locket, deep in thought.

Maybe some criminals left it there. Yeah, maybe it was evidence. Or maybe the evidence is locked inside. Ooh! Or it’s a secret family heirloom. Or…

She sat up suddenly, shaking her head to clear it.

Score! sang Aunt Susan, rushing up to the counter. Guess who gets to restore a jukebox!

"Do you even know how to restore a jukebox?" Ariana wondered.

Well…there’s always time to learn, right?

As Ariana laughed, the couple exited, holding hands and giggling sappily. A new customer brushed past them, entering the store instead.

Aunt Susan stuck out her studded tongue. So, you gonna take home that mystery locket? You seem to like it.

Yeah, no thanks, said Ariana, scooting the locket case a few inches away. She couldn’t exactly explain it, but something about the locket reminded her of her dream journal—adventurous, mysterious, and definitely not something she should show around. I don’t think huge gold jewelry is my thing. Or, like, any jewelry.

My own niece! My flesh and blood! said Aunt Susan, draping a hand dramatically over her forehead. "I’ve got to start teaching you about style—"

"Help! Please help! Help me!"

Ariana and Aunt Susan blinked. A terrified voice had just issued from outside. Then—Bang! Bang! Bang! Urgent knocking on the front doors. Aunt Susan hurried toward the front of the shop, muttering, What on earth?

She pulled open the doors, revealing a little boy who looked close to tears.

Sweetheart, they’re unlocked. You don’t need to do that.

O-oh, I’m sorry.

The boy’s voice quavered. His big brown eyes were round, his coppery cheeks flushed. His charcoal hair stuck straight up like he’d just survived an explosion.

"I can’t find my mom. She’s lost. I was with her one second and then—then she was gone. Have you seen her?"

How could she get away so fast? Ariana wondered. And how are we supposed to know what she looks like? She almost asked before something else caught her attention. The new customer was grinning, almost chuckling, as he examined some 1950s jewelry.

Ariana blinked. She’d already forgotten he was there.

Really looking at him now, Ariana noticed he wasn’t the typical Here-and-There shopper. He seemed about her age, with bronzy-olive skin and neglected black hair.

A prickle of mistrust crept down Ariana’s spine. The Here-and-There Antique Shop was definitely a fascinating place to wander, but it wasn’t exactly a hotspot for teenagers. Especially not teenagers alone.

The customer’s shoulders tensed. He glanced up, right into her eyes. Even from across the room, Ariana noticed that his irises were surprisingly blue and bright. Her nerves tingled with suspicion again, but she forced her best I’m-being-paid-for-this cashier smile.

The customer grinned back. Immediately, the expression rubbed Ariana the wrong way. It was a too cool look, like he couldn’t care less about musty lamps and clocks. And there was something else too.

After a second, Ariana realized what it was. Unlike the happy couple, or the characters in good books, she couldn’t read this guy at all. Behind those blue eyes, nothing. As if someone had put up a sign: Do Not Enter.

Frowning, Ariana looked