Glory Alley and the Star Riders (The Glory Alley Series)

by C. Deanna Verhoff

  “Gimme that,” said Patrice, motioning for Glory’s knife.

  “Good idea,” Randy quipped. “Demented Glory shouldn’t handle sharp objects.”

  “I’m so sorry, Nana,” Glory handed over the knife to her sister and hung back. “That was meant for the Wybbils.”

  The screen door slammed downstairs. Dad’s voice boomed from below. “What’s going on up there!”

  Danny cupped his hand to his mouth. “Nothing! Just Glory trying to kill Nana!”

  The others chortled.

  Glory scowled.

  Dad came upstairs and looked around, not saying much, except to order Glory to take down the traps.

  Dang it! She glanced worriedly in the direction of the mesa. That’s the end of Plan A. But there was no Plan B. Now she’d never catch a Wybbil by the toe and get a wish. Worse than that, the Alleys were defenseless.

  Chapter 11

  The next day started the weekend. Sounds of bickering brothers woke Glory. Following her nose, she wandered to the kitchen where most of the family flocked like vultures around a pan of Nana’s steaming-hot cinnamon rolls.

  As everybody ate, Glory said casually, “Last night we pressed our luck by taking down the booby traps. We probably shouldn’t chance it again. Let’s all sleep together in the living room. Those little squirrel-munchers will think twice before taking on all of us at once.”

  Dad grimaced and pushed himself away from the table. He made a production of slamming his plate into the sink.

  “Look what you’ve done.” Randy kicked Glory beneath the table. “You made Dad lose his appetite.”

  “Father Winter’s Day is just around the corner,” Danny smirked. “Maybe Glory’s little men are really elves.”

  After seeing their glowing needle and portal-opening feather, she was open to about anything, and with Father Winter’s Day around the corner, the suggestion of elves had merit.

  “Don’t feed the madness,” Brandon said.

  “Glory Alley,” Dad said through his teeth. “Breathe one more word of this nonsense and I’ll have to beat it out of you.”

  Dad left through the back door slamming it behind him.

  Glory flinched.

  “Wheel me out there, Nana,” Grandpa said. “He needs a talking to.”

  Nana pushed Grandpa through the back door leaving it ajar. Glory’s grandparents couldn’t talk quietly even when they wanted to. The kids sat around the table listening in silence.

  “Take it easy, Robert,” Grandpa said. “Glory’s perfectly fine, beating her isn’t going to solve anything.”

  “How can you be so sure there’s nothing wrong with her? These stories are getting out of hand.”

  “Glory is a real deep thinker and the best Treasure Quest player I’ve ever seen—other than me, of course. Her mind works different than the rest, but it’s a good different, rest assured.”

  “I can’t tolerate lying.”

  “The girl’s not trying to deceive anyone,” said Nana. “Besides, it ain’t lying if she really believes it.”

  “But crazy’s worse than lying,” Dad said, his voice strained. “You can break a kid of lying, but crazy’s a whole other ball game.”

  Glory felt the eyes of her siblings burning holes of accusation into her skull, but she refused to look at them, stubbornly fixing her eyes on the door.

  “Please,” said Nana. “No more talk of breaking the child. Listen to Grandpa. There ain’t nothing wrong with Glory. If you’re not careful, Child Protective Services will be all over you. That Miss Crenshaw is something else. She’ll take Glory and George away for sure and probably the rest of them too.”

  The Alleys had their problems, sure. Dad could be scary, but tearing them apart would do more harm than a thousand beatings. She looked at George who was smiling and humming as he munched on a roll. His golden hair was matted against his scalp. He had no idea what was going on. Maybe it was better that way.

  “I want to do right by my kids,” Dad said. “But I don’t know anything about raising girls. Or boys for that matter. They need their mother. I need her. I just don’t know how much longer I can keep it together.”

  Grandpa’s voice carried into the kitchen. “Losing my precious Rose was the worst thing I’ve ever been through. A big part of me died that day right along with my daughter. But I learned I have to go on being grateful for what I have, like for you, and your sister, and the grandkids.

  “Robert, I probably never told you this, it’s been so long ago, but I had lots of reservations about taking you and Martha into our house back then.

  “Money was tight and we already had a girl of our own to raise. Two more adolescents in the house seemed like a bad idea. But Nana told me doing the right thing wasn’t always the easy thing. Turns out, she was right. Opening our homes to both of you was the smartest thing Nana and I ever done. Now that Rose is gone, without you and Martha, we’d have nobody.”

  “And I’m eternally grateful, but...”

  “I’m not finished,” Grandpa said. “I know you loved my Rose with all of your heart.”

  “She was everything to me.”

  “Let me talk, will ya? What I’m trying to say is being a man means doing the right thing even when it ain’t easy. Like I tell Glory in Treasure Quest, always keep your eye on the goal, work toward the prize one step at a time.”

  “Life isn’t a game of Treasure Quest, Grandpa,” Dad replied.

  Nana peeked through the door. She sent the eavesdroppers a scolding frown before shutting the door all the way, drowning out the grown-ups’ conversation.

  Randy’s face twisted scornfully as he jabbed a finger at Glory. “If Dad starts drinking again it’s all your fault.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Because you’re nuts.”

  “Am not.”

  “Gone off the deep end!” Danny added. “You’re a brick short of a load.”

  “Screwball!” Randy sang.

  “Knock it off you two,” Patrice said. “Dad’s stopped drinking before, but it never lasts. Don’t blame Glory if it happens again.”

  “That’s right,” Danny said. “We’ll blame YOU, Patrice. If it wasn’t for you tramping around with Filmore, Crenshaw wouldn’t be back on our case.”

  Patrice knitted her brow. “Your stupid mouth is going to get you in big trouble someday, Danny-O, and I hope I’m there to see it. That goes for you too, Randy.”

  “Hey,” Randy held his chest, acting shocked. “Leave me out of this.”

  Brandon joined the tift. “Don’t act like Mister Innocent. I’m tired of the way you two egg each other on like mindless buffoons.”

  “Yeah,” Patrice agreed. “It’s not logical to blame Glory, or me, or anybody for something out of our control.”

  “And what do you know about logic?” Randy said with disdain. “Ted Filmore—the guy looks like road kill.”

  Danny raised an index finger. “But he does have a cool car.”

  “You are SOOO shallow,” Glory said.

  “Get it straight,” Brandon addressed them all. “Dad’s gonna start drinking again no matter what any of us do—or don’t do—because he’s a loser.”

  Glory wanted to defend Dad, but her tongue wouldn’t cooperate. She dropped her eyes to the table.

  “You’re just saying that to take the heat off yourself,” Randy accused Brandon. “You cop an attitude with Dad, acting all cocky, getting him mad and then it’s worse on all of us.”

  “If it’s anybody’s fault,” said Danny. “It’s George’s. If it wasn’t for him being born, Mom would still be alive and we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “What a horrible thing to say!” Patrice said.

  “What do you expect from an idiot who wears the same underwear four days in a row,” Glory quipped.

  “At least I’m a sane idiot,” Danny replied. “And I change my underwear every three days whether it needs it or not.”

  Randy laughed as if his twin was the most orig
inal funnyman on the face of Tullah. Glory rolled her eyes. What was the use?

  George, covered with white frosting and greasy butter, sat in his booster seat at the end of the table giggling along with the twins, not knowing any better. He held out an empty hand toward the last cinnamon roll. “More?”

  “Don’t worry, George,” Glory vowed. “Even if nobody else cares what happens to us, I do. And by the stones of Tullah, I’m not going to rest until I find a way to make things better for you, for me, for all of us.”

  Her siblings stared at her as if an alien had landed on her head.

  “I don’t know about the rest of you,” Randy said with feigned sincerity. “Now that Glory’s on the job, I feel all toasty and safe inside.” Then he burst out with laughter along with his twin.

  “Imbeciles,” Glory hissed.

  Chapter 12

  Later that day, Dad told Glory to skip chores; just the two of them were riding into town to do some errands. Glory studied him with a suspicious tilt of the head, seeing through his veiled attempt to get to the bottom of her apparent insanity.

  During the ride Dad made an effort at small talk. Since she was on to him, she kept her responses just long enough to avoid being rude.

  “Are they treating you all right at school?”

  “Mostly, except for this cheerleader named Mandy.”

  “A cheerleader is picking on you?”

  “Yeah, but she’s mean to everybody, so no biggie.”

  “How’s your grades?”

  “Fine.”

  “How good is fine?”

  “Well, last year I was ranked twenty-one out of three-hundred-and-something kids. This year I’m fifteen.”

  “That’s real good, Glory. I’m proud of you.”

  They traveled in silence the rest of the way, but Glory felt breezy inside.

  In the city, they stopped at a lumberyard where Dad filled a rolling flat with long pieces of lumber, paint, and screws. Repairing the rickety front porch was on his To-Do-List.

  On the way back home, they stopped at a burger joint where they discussed their favorite sports teams. She avoided all the forbidden subjects and told a silly joke she had heard at school instead. Dad laughed.

  She savored the day knowing it would soon go to seed like a dandelion in the wind. As a creamy chocolate shake pleasured her taste buds, she committed his laughter to memory. It had been such a long time since Nice Dad had come around that she had almost forgotten how much fun he could be.

  On the way home Dad gripped the steering wheel as if the road was covered with a sheet of ice, all anxious-like. A dozen times it looked as if he was about to say something, but the words retreated. Finally, he spit out what was on his mind.

  “Glory, I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” Glory asked, trying to narrow down the thousands of possible reasons.

  “For the father I’ve become. I wasn’t always like this.”

  “True.”

  “Before we moved to the farm I dabbled in journalism, but you probably don’t remember any of that.”

  “Not really,” Glory replied. “But I’ve heard it mentioned. Have you ever considered writing again?”

  “Not possible.” Dad’s lips tightened into a line. “I’ve made too many enemies in that arena. Besides, farming goes back in my family for twenty generations. There’s no shame in reverting back to what I know.”

  “Right, Dad, no shame.”

  She felt her father’s regrets hanging in the air like smothering fog, making her feel claustrophobic.

  “You deserve better than me,” Dad said. “All my kids deserve better than me—a washed-up old sot.”

  Dad glanced at her, to the road, back to Glory, and then to the road again, as if waiting for her to disagree. She blanked out her expression refusing to exonerate him.

  “Since your mother passed away, I’ve tried to do right by all of you, to make her proud, but sometimes I just...well, you know what I mean. What I’m trying to say is that no matter what happens, I love you.”

  Maybe you love me today; she wanted to reply, but what about tomorrow after that second or third drink?

  “You know that—don’t you?”

  Glory shrugged, avoiding eye contact, using a finger to write Dust Me on the dashboard.

  “We’re stills pals, right?”

  “Sure, Dad,” she replied, not wanting to spoil an otherwise awesome day. “I still can’t believe you think the Renegades are going to take the world cup.”

  She was thankful when he took the bait and the discussion returned to safer territory. The trip ended too soon, but the rare expected pleasantries continued when she got home.

  Brandon had covered her evening chores. Patrice had baked her favorite cookies—peanut butter. Combined with Dad’s sober streak maybe the Elboni’s magic was already working. A girl could only hope.

  To be honest, she guessed, the true force behind her sibling’s kindness was Dad. No doubt, he’d ordered everyone to help out fragile-whack-job-Glory, who might break at any second.

  At midnight Glory’s eyes popped open at the sound of someone rummaging through her dresser drawers. The ceiling light in the hallway illuminated the bedroom with a pale glow. The intruders’ backs were to her. She wanted to scream, but forced herself to pretend to sleep.

  The three guys were just slightly shorter than herself. They dressed in the same pinstriped suits, shiny green vests, and brimmed hats that they had worn during their last intrusion. Their thick fingers moved over the objects in the room with speed and efficiency. They seemed most interested in the colorful rocks on the bookshelf.

  Glory acted as if she was just tossing in her sleep and rolled onto her side for a better look. The intruders froze. Despite the dread growing in her stomach, she’d been counting on this very moment, a chance to catch a Wybbil by the toe, a chance to force them to do magic at her bidding. But what if they didn’t take kindly to being grabbed by the toe? What if they weren’t Wybbils?

  A moment later, the intruders resumed picking up stones, turning them in their hands, using their yellow nails to pick at the paint.

  “Remember, the Elboni looks different on each world,” one of them said. “But it’s usually the same size and always spectacular.”

  Glory’s plan to grab one by the toe was unraveling in the face of fear. It was an easier task in imagination than reality. If she didn’t act soon, they’d be gone.

  Still, she was pleased to see that they had taken an interest in her artistry. The biggest stone in the room was painted blue and embellished with a picture of a colorful bird. Although her heart raced, she didn’t mind the intruders handling that rock, but the next biggest stone was another matter. The size of a softball, painted white with swaths of gray and black for craters, Glory had designed the stone to look like a moon. She’d given it to Mom shortly before she died. I Love You To the Moon and Back, Mom was written there in black paint. Mom had loved that rock, but she had wanted Glory to keep it. That way, mother said, you will never forget the love between us.

  Glory had opposed the idea of taking back a present, but Mom insisted that some presents were best enjoyed when given away, and knowing Glory had the beautiful moon made Mom happy—Glory’s molars grinded when the nasty strangers violated The Moon with their grubby hands.

  Finally, they left her room, but they were still in the house, downstairs noisily moving furniture and sifting through closets. She feared for George the most because the intruders’ fondness for small game. Then it hit her—George’s fourth birthday was yesterday! It had come and gone without anyone noticing! What a rotten family they were for forgetting his special day. A crash from downstairs brought her back to the moment.

  Leave, leave, leave, she mouthed the words, willing them back into the hole they came from.

  “Brandon?” she whispered with urgency.

  No answer. Glory sprang from the bed giving him a hard shake.

  Crackly voices came from the hall. Th
e intruders were returning! She sprung into bed, flattened her body, and pulled the cover over her head. Wait, no, better not, that’ll give me away. She tucked them under her chin instead, trying hard not to hyperventilate. Their clunky footsteps came closer and she sensed them gathering around her bed. Then something soft tickled her forehead.

  “Hmmm,” one of the intruders said. “That’s strange.”

  Oily drops hit her face. Glory involuntarily winced.

  "The wake-up elixir isn’t working either,” one said. “I told ye not to use as much sleep dust on this one.”

  Another answered testily, “I know what ye told me, but the question be, what do ye be meaning? Are ye saying I don't know what I be doing?”

  "Aye. Sprinkle it again.”

  More oily drops touched her skin.

  “Wake up.”

  Glory acted as if she didn’t hear them. Suddenly, the covers were flung off her. Fingers like hot pinchers curled around her forearm, yanking upward. Glory sat upright, eyes wide, feeling like she might pee there on the spot.

  The closest one stood there with his white feather in hand. She eyed it like a rattlesnake as he brought it to her forehead.

  “Let us try this again,” he said, tapping her vigorously.

  The feather felt like a mop on her sweaty forehead, but at least it didn’t hurt. In fact, it did nothing.

  The three men looked at her rolling their hands as if waiting for something to happen. After a minute, the closest one examined his feather, looked up at his companions and shrugged.

  “Rock Collector, do ye understand what we’re saying?” asked the man with the spike in his hat.

  She held her covers tighter and nodded.

  “Well, then, good evening to ye,” he greeted.

  All Glory could do was gape. With their big heads, large noses, sagging cheeks, and wormy beards—Glory thought they were about the most unattractive creatures she’d ever seen. Glory looked at the intruders and the intruders looked at her. One tipped his gray hat to her, revealing a blotchy baldhead. The other smiled, revealing ugly mottled gums, and sharp grayish teeth with gaps between each one. Glory flipped the blanket over her head.