Fin Galloway: WishMaster

By Daniel Harris Honey

Fin Galloway loves comic books, maybe a little too much. He's fifteen now and far too old to be bewitched by childish fantasies. He must grow up and face the real world.

But what if the whole wide world was one big comic book? What if he was the hero?

What if one wish could bring all his dreams to life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662460470

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Fin Galloway

WishMaster

Daniel Harris Honey

Copyright © 2022 Daniel Harris Honey

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-6624-6046-3 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-6047-0 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Fin Galloway and the Regrettable Wish

Fin Galloway and the Terrible Tattoos

Fin Galloway and the Wrath of the Kid Sister

Fin Galloway and the Curse of Causality

Fin Galloway and the Ultimate Price

About the Author

To Danielle, the Sawyer in my life…

Part 1

Fin Galloway and the Regrettable Wish

Fin was a very long way from New York City. On the other side of the world, it seemed. A place called Spoon Island that it took an hour-long boat ride just to reach. He'd seen trees in the city but none nearly as massive as the ones scattered about the island. The deeper in they went, the more the trees clustered together, darkening an already gray sky. The Cassidine Estate lay at the island's heart. Trees huddled around it, tall and thick. The house was at least four times the size of any he'd seen in the city, a castle almost. The roof was pointy, almost jagged. The many attic windows were dark gray. The front door was shiny black with the Cassidine crest at the center. Fin looked up at the house and swore he heard thunder roll. He looked at it and knew it was evil. His stomach churned, which was always a bad sign.

Come, Timofey told Fin. The madam awaits.

The old disturbingly pale butler led him into the house. A musty odor met him inside, and he almost lost his lunch. Several cats, all the same breed, came from somewhere, meowing and hissing and looking at him like a brand-new scratching post. Fin left his bags and followed Timofey into the study. The cats followed them. More cats were inside with his aunt Vivian. She sat in a fancy chair, wearing a fine blue dress and a diamond necklace with blue sapphires. He'd never seen his mother in anything so expensive-looking, and he couldn't imagine her in that house.

Madam Vivian, Timofey said. I bring you young master Cassidine.

She seemed about to do something, but then her head snapped up, with her eyes suddenly alert. He is not a Cassidine, she said. He is a… He's a…

Galloway, ma'am, Fin spoke up. She gave him a searing look as if she hated his face or his voice or both equally. It was, he knew, that he looked just like his father who she hated. He, Fin himself, she had never met. He could see his mother in her; they were twins. But somehow everything that made his mother's face bright and warm and beautiful was gone from hers. In fact, his aunt looked older than his mother. She was still pretty, he thought. But her eyes were almost wrinkly at their edges, and her mouth was thinner. She, like the house, made his stomach churn uneasily.

Take him to his room, she told Timofey, still looking at Fin. Timofey took Fin up the wooden staircase to the first bedroom on the second floor of the west wing. It was small, plain, but clean. It used to be a butler's room, Fin knew. The second-floor west wing was where the maids and butlers lived when the family had them.

Here we are, Master Galloway. The bath is down the hall. Dinner will be served at seven.

Timofey left, and Fin sat on the bed, putting his face in his hands. She was going to kill him, he thought. Kill him and feed him to her cats. No way he was making it back home in one piece. His parents were a thousand miles away, soaking up the sun on a beach, and he was stuck there with his weird aunt he didn't know and her pack of cats.

Just to think, a few weeks ago, he was the man. In junior high, he'd been just another face in the crowd. But high school—high school, he finally stepped up. Freshman year, he made the football team, got Connor Pierce off his back, and even snagged a date with the Marshall Pruitt, who was smart, funny, and pretty enough that you didn't care that she had a boy name. His parents had horrible timing. It wasn't even their anniversary. He had to suffer so they could suck face.

Two months, Fin told himself. Two months and he'd be back. Until then, he'd avoid his aunt and her fur bag minions as much as possible. There were no TVs and no one close to his age, but he had plenty of comic books. His life's blood. He would survive if he was careful…and quiet…and basically invisible. He had plenty of practice.

By seven o'clock, Fin was showered and dressed, heading downstairs. His tie was straight, his unruly hair combed. His mother had given him the rules so he would know what to expect. Her father had been a duke or lord or something no one was anymore. He tried his whole life for sons but only had twin daughters. Fin's mother spent her whole life on Spoon Island and then his father came along and swept her off her feet with his surfboard, his California cool, and his altogether differentness. They got married. She was actually in labor with Fin when her father died. It wasn't planned. They didn't know he was that sick, but Fin doubted Aunt Vivian would ever forgive any of them for it.

The estate was lined with portraits of old dead Cassidines. People Fin would never know. People he didn't even look like. Not with his dark skin and curly hair. His mother had given him a history lesson along with the rules. Everything that mattered to Aunt Vivian was in or a part of that house, so for the next two months, it would matter to him. The dukes and the lords and the almost-kings he didn't really care about.

Fin found his aunt in the dining room, wearing a new fancy dress and jewelry and sitting at a long rectangular table with candles, flower arrangements, and silver plate settings. She looked at him as if she had not made up her mind on just how bad she was going to treat him. Don't provoke her, his mother had told him. Fin had his father's wicked sense of humor.

Fin went and kissed her hand. Good evening, Aunt Vivian.

Evening. Sit to my left. He did, and she continued to look him over. Right as he wondered if she was feeding him or even if she ate at all, Timofey came from the kitchen, pushing a cart with two silver-topped trays. He sat one in front of each of them. Madam. Master Galloway. He removed the covers. Fin's plate had a big fat steak on it.

Sweet Jesus, Fin gasped.

Boy! Aunt Vivian hissed. He just broke rule number one. Sorry, he told her. I'm just really surprised is all.

In this house, we do not take the Lord's name in vain for any reason. We are not heathens.

I'm sorry.

Don't be sorry, be better. Say grace.

He said grace the way his mother told him to and the only way his aunt would like.

When it was time to eat, he used the right fork and knife and kept his elbows off the table. He tried to eat slowly, but he never had steak—his parents went vegan before he was born—and it was so good, like the best-thing-he-ever-ate kind of good.

Would you like another? Aunt Vivian asked when he was done. Yes, please, said Fin.

Timofey brought another that was just as juicy and tender.

Excuse his etiquette, she told Timofey. They fed him nothing but roots and seeds. Victoria was always soft, easily influenced. Her mongrel husband is an oaf, but I'll bring what Cassidine there is in the boy out. It will be trying, but ‘there is no mountain that cannot be climbed.'

That night, Fin slept like a baby. When Timofey woke him at dawn, Fin didn't want to get up. For one, it was dawn, and two, he had a list of chores as long as his forearm. Fin took one look at it and laughed. If he did everything on it, she'd have a spotless almost-new house, a manicured front and backyard, and a garden with six different plants to display. He looked out his window, and there were weeds everywhere in the backyard, the grass was high, and there was a tree that had fallen sometime last decade that no one ever moved. There was no garden to be seen.

She's joking, right?

"Afraid not,