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

by C. Deanna Verhoff

  Ted Filmore held up one hand in defense. “Mr. Alley, I’m sorry. I don’t want any trouble.”

  “Bull. That’s what the Filmores do—bring trouble down on hardworking folks who are just trying to get along. First, you take advantage of my daughter. Now you do this to get back at me for filing a report against you.”

  “Don’t blame me for trying to help Patrice raise above all of this. You’re the drunk. You’re the one who beats your kids. You’re the one holding the gun...”

  Dad cocked the trigger.

  The world seemed to hold its breath.

  “Stand down, Mr. Alley,” an officer warned.

  BLAM! Dad sent a shot to the ground just in front of Ted’s feet. Glory knew Dad never missed, it was just a warning, but the officers didn’t know that.

  White sparks came from two of the officers’ guns.

  BANG! BANG!

  The sound reverberated through the woods. One bullet got Dad in the right arm, sending the gun to the ground. Blood poured down his bicep as his limb hung loosely at his side. Shock spread over Dad’s ashen face. At first, Glory thought the second shot had missed. Then Dad clutched at his abdomen. Dark red liquid spurted between his fingers.

  “Dad!” Glory screamed, fists pounding on the window. “Dad!”

  “You son-of-a-frickin’...” she heard Dad let out a string of obscenities. “I only wanted to scare that jackass.” He doubled over and eased himself into the grass, panting hard. His gun was quickly confiscated. They cuffed his hands, which upset Glory further. It’s not like he could fight anymore. Dad closed his eyes and moaned. Then he went still and quiet.

  Brandon started a fight with the officers in an effort to try to get to their father. Patrice let out the worst sob Glory had ever heard and then crumpled to the ground. Sirens sounded in the distance.

  “Please don’t die, Daddy,” Glory mouthed the words because her voice quit working for a moment. All she could do is watch as the ambulance pulled up, its red lights bounced off the house and all the people.

  “This is my fault. If I hadn’t taken the Elboni, the star riders wouldn’t have come and eaten the chickens, and you wouldn’t have whipped me, and I wouldn’t have gotten the welts...I’m so sorry. So sorry! Please, Dad, please, hold on. I promise I’ll make everything right if you can just hold on.”

  She lay down on the seat, and clutched the stuffed bear, feeling numb all over. But the seat was unusually warm and grainy. Like sand.

  Chapter 23

  Glory sat up with a jolt still holding Mister Bear. This time she was glad to be back in the Bamboozle.

  “Dad can’t be dead,” she whimpered. “He’s too tough for that.”

  Suddenly, she was bowled over by a hug gone wild.

  “Glory!”

  She’d forgotten about Clash being in the Bamboozle. Heck, she’d forgotten about the Bamboozle until a second ago.

  “Glo,” He pulled her at arms lengths. “You’re crying—what happened?”

  “I-I’m not sure.” Glory found it difficult to swallow. She hugged the stuffed bear close to her chest, staring at the sand, but not really seeing it. The scene back home kept playing over and over again in her mind.

  “I was back on Tullah, but I don’t know for sure, the whole thing might have been a magical hallucination.”

  “What happened?”

  “The police and social services were at my house. Dad shot at Ted Filmore’s feet, not to kill, just to scare him.”

  Clash’s eyes looked extra big behind his thick glasses. “Why?” he gasped.

  “If only Lady Gost hadn’t sent me here, I never would’ve gone through the blue door, and Miss Crenshaw wouldn’t have seen the welts. It’s the Wybbils fault for eating the chickens and causing me to get a whipped.” She went on and on, but when she got to true the source of her problems it led back to her own disobedience. “If only I had stayed away from Queen’s Mesa like I was supposed to, I’d never have gotten into this mess.”

  “Slow down.” Clash took her face between his palms, forcing her to look him in the eye. “Explain to me exactly what happened.”

  “The police shot my Dad. The shock on his face…I’ve never seen him look like that before…so helpless. But I don’t know if it was real or not. I don’t know if he’s alive or dead. I don’t know if I should grieve, or laugh, or what.” She flung her arms around Clash. He hugged stroked her hair and tried his best to give comfort.

  “There, there, now, I’m sure everything will be okay.”

  “I’m not. I’m so confused. What should I do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Her body was wracked with a shudder. She pulled away and curled up in a ball, squeezing Mr. Bear, begrudgingly admitting that it gave her some comfort. Clash gave up on giving advice and simply lay down behind her, pressing his body against her own, draping an arm over her waist. There was nothing steamy about it, just a friend trying to let her know that he was there, and she wasn’t alone.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Glory said. “I mean I wish you weren’t, because this is a horrible place to be, but I’m glad for your company.”

  “I knew what you meant.”

  The two of them watched the oval of sky above. “My Dad took a bullet in the arm and one in the gut. Blood gushed everywhere. I’ve never seen him look like that—so white, so frightened.”

  “You know,” Clash said. “My uncle was a medic in the Oshianic War. He said gunshot wounds always bleed a lot. His experience was that if a soldier didn’t die instantly, and a skilled medic got to him really fast, the chance of survival was as high as ninety percent. My uncle called it the golden hour.”

  “The golden hour, huh.” Glory soaked up the new term a minute. “The ambulance got there fast.”

  “Sounds like your Dad fell easily within that golden hour. And don’t forget the Fire and Rescue Station is only a few miles from your house. They have that helicopter, too.”

  The friends fell silent for a couple of more minutes.

  “Yep, I’m sure he’s fine. And look on the bright side,” Clash said. “You’ve gone through all three doors. The test is over.”

  “And my only reward is getting out of the Bamboozle—big whoop.”

  “Notice, we’re still here. Do you the think the Wybbils know you’ve finished the test?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe you ought to blow the whistle.”

  “I’m not ready to see their ugly faces just yet. Give me a little time to collect myself, figure out a new strategy.”

  “Well, it’s pretty simple. Just give them their Elboni.”

  “Are you crazy? I can’t do that, especially now, after seeing my Dad shot and my family split apart. Don’t you understand? I need to figure out the binding ritual worse than ever!”

  Clash took in a sharp breath and rubbed his temples. “Listen to yourself.”

  “What?” Glory asked defensively.

  “You’re obsessed.”

  “If you’re not going to support me, why don’t you just go home?”

  “Maybe I should.”

  “Yes, maybe you should,” Glory said. “That is if you’re even really here.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You might be an enchanted thing only pretending to be Clash.”

  “Funny, you should say that, I was thinking the same thing about you. The Glory I know isn’t quite as nuts as you.”

  The two rolled apart to glare at each other. A staring contest ensued. Whoever blinked first would lose—that was the rule—but their anger melted into laughter before any winner emerged.

  “I don’t know about you, but stealing cargo, blowing up aliens, and flying space ships always makes me feel better.” Clash rolled over to turn on Matthew’s red Sliver, encouraging her to take out the blue one. “So whaddaya say, how about a nice game of Space Raiders? You can even be Princess Gala if ya want to.”

  “Maybe later,” Glory said, shoving
it into the roomy pocket of her pajama bottoms. “But you go ahead, while I ponder my next move.”

  “Ponder?” Clash looked offended. “You sound like an old lady talking like that.”

  “At least I don’t dress like one.”

  “Now you’re just being mean.”

  The ground began to shake and dimple. Both of them jumped to their feet, glancing nervously all around, standing only a few feet away from each other. Dozens of small shadowy rat-like figures the length of Glory’s forearm burrowed out of the sand. One stepped into the moonlight, snout sniffing the air.

  Glory gasped, but didn’t dare let out a breath.

  Clash mouthed the word riplet!

  The riplet had pink skin covered with sparse white fuzz, pink eyes, floppy round ears, a nubby black tail and a mouth full of long green teeth. Ew! The thing looked like it could nibble through concrete. Glory threw the stuffed animal at it. Within seconds, hundreds of riplets came out of the ground and swarmed over Mister Bear. Stuffing flew and Mister Bear was gone before Glory could blink. Clash’s jaw dropped in a silent horror. They kept their feet planted, cringing as padded riplet feet scurried over the top of their shoes.

  More and more riplets came out of the sand until every inch of open space squirmed with them.

  If only they could fly.

  Clash kept pointing at something, jabbing his finger toward Glory’s chest.

  Glory looked down—the whistle! Her hand instantly went for it, but a terrible realization crossed her mind. Every time she had used it the star riders had taken several minutes to respond. If the demise of Mister Bear was any indication of how fast the riplets would tear them apart, she and Clash would be nibbled to the bone before the Wybbils arrived. But what choice did she have? Lifting the whistle to her lips, a riplet dropped out of nowhere to land on her shoulder. It bit her right through the whistle’s cord and into her neck. She dropped the whistle in the frantic sea of fur below.

  Uh-oh.

  Matthew’s slingboard rested in the sand some twenty feet away. So close, yet so far. Her eyes traveled back up the Bamboozle’s tall stem. If only she had a jet pack. Fat chance of that, but a whifferdil rested nearby. The Wybbils said anyone with a strong connection to the Elboni could fly one. Despite the scoffing Wybbils, Glory knew that she and the Elboni shared a strong connection. It was worth a try.

  To fly such a craft...what did the pilot say?

  Riplets brushed against her legs. Boy, did it stink in here. The urge to scream almost won out. Be calm and remember what the pilot said. Her mind drew a blank, but then his words came back in a flash. To fly the whifferfdil the pilot needed to meditate on three things: the Elboni, the wind, and the whifferdil itself.

  Riplets squeaked, chattered and gnashed at each other. Glory closed her eyes, trying to block them out of her mind. No more bus rides in the buff. No more Hoogulas and bottomless pits. No more heartless Miss Crenshaws. And no more riplets.

  Only the Elboni. Smooth, perfectly round, indigo, caressing, peaceful, powerful and mysterious; its power coursed through her the same way it flowed through Wybb, like blood through veins.

  The Wind. Invisible, unseen, but a mighty force of nature, moving the water, wind and weather.

  And the whifferdil. Spongy ketchup red and golden yellow, smart fibers hold riders fast, thin on the outside, impossibly deep on the inside; bubbles, rising, gliding.

  A crystal clear vision of the jungle materialized in her head. She could almost see the whifferdil now. Focus. Focus…there it was, clear as day in her mind, rolled up, and leaning against the trunk of a palm tree. “Blow, wind, blow,” she mouthed the words. Green jungle fronds began to sway. Glory imagined the wind flowing around the straps around the red whifferdil. She willed the strap to release, and in the vision, it did. The whifferdil opened and plumped in an instant, like a rescue raft full of air. The wind caught the whifferdil before it hit the ground, gathering beneath it, lifting it upward. She willed the breeze to pick up the craft. And it obeyed, carrying the flying wedge through the air. To the Bamboozle with you, Glory encouraged. The whifferdil flew toward the middle of the jungle. Higher it went, circling the Bamboozle’s hollow stack, leaving a trail of bubbles behind until it hovered over the tall stem’s opening.

  Her mind came back to where she stood inside the Bamboozle. A wet dog smell filled her nostrils. The riplets were stacked up to her calves. The creatures gnashed and clawed at each other, there activity growing more frenzied. Warm rodent blood splattered her face. Both she and Clash winced as droplets hit their cheeks.

  She lost the vision.

  Her eyes popped opened and gazed hopefully upward. Nothing but black sky and twinkling stars up there—so much for that idea. Riplets scuttled over her feet and brushed against knees. It was just a matter of time before they turned on the both of them. They reached out over the sea of riplets to grasp hands, while held the Sliver with the other, morbidly intent on videoing their gruesome deaths..

  “Friends ‘til the end?” Clash said.

  “Friends ‘til…” Suddenly, a weight came down on her, blocking out the light coming from the top of the Bamboozle. Something large and solid, but airy and soft, landed on her head. When she swatted at it, she recognized the spongy texture. “The whifferdil!” She mouthed the words, pointing frantically with one finger as she held onto it with one hand. I did it! I did it!

  Clash’s face pinched in puzzlement. Glory patted the whifferdil, and then pointed at the hole at the top of the Bamboozle, which only served to make Clash’s already frightened eyes grow larger. But they weren’t out of the Bamboozle yet, and as much as she dreaded the idea of drawing attention to their presence, they had to make a move in order to climb onto the whifferdil.

  She pushed it over on top of a batch of scurrying riplets and with a sweep of the hand, ushered Clash to climb on board.

  At first he resisted, but Glory repeatedly gestured for him to climb on. Clash stepped on board, shaking riplets off his ankles. Glory stepped into the pilot’s seat. The creatures began to climb up the legs of Glory’s pajamas. They crawled onto the whifferdil and began to chew on its edges. Glory’s concentration was fried.

  “Elboni, Whifferdil, Wind,” she whispered.

  “What are you doing?” Clash whispered back.

  “Shhh,” she ordered. “I need complete concentration.” A riplet bit through the arm of her coat. “Yowch!”

  “Ow!” Clash cried out. “Ow! Oh, bloody gut bucket, they’re eating us alive!”

  “Shhhh!”

  Focus, she tried to conjure up an image of the indigo stone releasing a stream of magical twinkling stars, and she imagined the whifferdil absorbing them. “Yowch!” A riplet was on her shoulder now.

  “Help me, Great Elboni,” she said louder this time. “What do I do?”

  Suddenly, the image of a corked wine bottle filled her head. That’s it!

  The bamboozle was the glass bottle. The air inside— champagne. The whifferdil was a bubble waiting to be released. Only one thing left to do—pop the cork. The riplets swarmed over the whifferdil. She felt another bite and knew only seconds remained before she and Clash became objects of a feeding frenzy. Bite, tear, chomp went the riplets.

  The whifferdil began to bubble and hiss. All she had to do was release the cork at the top of the bottle. Glancing up at the stack to the night sky above—she willed the bubble to rise to the top of the bottle, air pressure building up, up and up. POP! Effortlessly, and without warning, the whifferdil shot up through the stack with tremendous speed.

  “Whoo-hoo-hoo!”

  Glory and Clash screamed as the G-forces flattened them against the whifferdil.

  “This is worse than the Rocket Ride at Maple Point!” he hollered.

  The whifferdil burst into the opened starry sky, where the silver moon greeted them. The craft rose and rose, leaving a trail of sparkles behind, until it peaked in front of the moon, but Glory’s stomach kept going. Riplets were dropping off left
and right.

  “I’m gonna blow chunks!” Clash warned.

  Everything hovered in place for a few seconds. Riplets clung to the fibers with their teeth and little claws. A campfire flickered in the clearing below. Glory saw the four Wybbils below spread out around camp like little bugs in blankets.

  No Matthew, Olivia or Mandy in sight. They must have been sent home already.

  As they were was about to crash and burn, the four Wybbils peacefully slept around a campfire. Some nerve!

  The jungle floor looked too far away for comfort.

  “This is gonna be baddd!” Glory warned just before the whifferdil dropped.

  Glory grabbed onto a spongy corner, hanging on for dear life as the craft lost its stiffness and sagged in the middle. The spongy material clung to her hands, but it was apparently no match for such amateurish flying. The whifferdil plummeted at a steep angle toward the trees.

  “Magic of the Elboni, straighten this whifferdil and give us safe landing!”

  The craft continued to fall, but stiffened once again. It descended in a spiral toward the jungle with Glory and Clash dangling from the back of it. The whifferdil crashed through the canopy of leaves. Glory fell off of it at the top of the canopy, breaking branches on the way down, until she landed on her back on a mound of ferns. Riplets scurried away into the dark underbrush. Clash was tangled in some branches above, but worked his way out, and was already climbing down.

  “You all right down there?” he asked.

  “I’m so sorry,” Glory said, feeling stingy bloody scratches all over her body.

  “What are you talking about, Glo? You just saved our lives.” He looked as bad as she felt, bruises already forming, twigs stuck in his hair, clothes covered with little tears. “Yep.”

  “You’re a mess,” Clash said, reaching up to pull a few twigs and leaves out of her hair.

  “So are you.” She brushed leaves off his jacket. “And they said a Tullahn couldn’t pilot a whifferdil,” Glory said, feeling shaky, but triumphant. “Proves what they know.” While Glory congratulated herself, Clash doubled over and puked.