One bedroom wall was covered with purple paisley wallpaper, coordinating with the purple accents throughout the room. Patrice and Glory’s beds were made of scrolling white metal—so pretty and girly. Their airbrushed names hung over the headboards. Nice.
A purple pin board covered with black polka dot fabric hung on the wall beside her bed. Photographs of a slender girl with short brown hair filled the board. In many of the photos she was dressed in a Sling Team uniform, but Glory couldn’t remember her for anything. Olivia Wingfield showed up in at least half of photos, posing and acting goofy with that girl from the Sling Team. In one picture, they had painted their faces in school colors. They were standing back to back, making the peace sign, acting as if they were on top of the world.
“Who the heck is she?” Glory said, pointing to the strange girl.
Mom and Dad exchanged worried glances.
“It’s you, Glory,” Dad said.
Glory gave an incredulous laugh, not believing him for a second. There was an older photo of Olivia and the slender girl arm-and-arm. They looked to be ten-years-old or so. Glory recognized the background as Mrs. Gentry’s 6th grade history class. They were making silly faces, apparently enjoying each other’s company very much. In many of the photos, they were surrounded by the snotty girls from school—looking at them, so smug and full of themselves, made her angry.
“Please,” she asked her father. “Take it down.”
He promptly lifted the poster board off the wall and slid it into the closet.
“Is that better?”
She nodded.
The room looked wonderful again, exactly as she’d want it if they had the money. The nicest touch was a small fake tree on her dresser, decorated with twinkly pink lights, ceramic shoes, snowmen and winter fairies. Dad asked if she needed anything before he left.
“I’m good,” she said, leaning back on the pillow, eyes roaming about the room. Everything looked perfect, but felt wrong. The pampering, however, was just right. She was not used to having Mom's undivided attention, but there she was with a tray of food in hand. She sat down on the edge of the bed. Her thick dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Her flushed cheeks gave way to a lovey-dovey smile. Mom’s soft brown eyes, Glory was sure, were the prettiest things this side of heaven. She pulled Glory close, stroking the back of her head, running fingers through her hair.
“Last week your hair was short, but now it’s past your shoulder blades, Glory. And your weight…” Mom took in a sharp breath. “Uh, never mind about that, I’m just glad you’re back home.” Mom squeezed her tighter, rocking Glory as if she was still a little tot. “Oh, sweet baby girl, what on Tullah happened to you?”
“I-I don’t know,” she replied, mind grasping for the answer, but never catching hold of anything.
Mom kissed the top of her head about a thousand times, then moved to plant kisses on both her cheeks.
“Aw, Mom,” Glory protested. “I’m not a baby.”
“I almost lost you. Give a mother her due.”
She accepted the affection with a belligerent frown, but enjoyed every minute of it. Hopefully, her siblings wouldn’t walk in, That’s when she noticed a big brown dog with one white ear, sitting in the doorway, taking it all in.
“I always wanted a house dog,” Glory said weakly. “What’s his name again?”
“Uh, Scooter.”
She patted the bed to encourage him to jump up. The dog whimpered, backed up a little, and then disappeared with a pitter-patter down the hallway.
"That’s strange,” Mom said. “Oh, well. Scooter’s a silly creature, don’t worry about him.”
Mom finally let go, asking, “Are you glad to be home, honey?"
Talking was becoming a chore, so she simply nodded yes. Her eyes lingered at the door waiting for an unknown someone to enter. "Where is..."
A name was on the tip of her tongue, but it wouldn’t come out.
"Where is what, dear?”
“I wish I knew.”
Mom raised a spoon of broth. “Eat.”
Glory sipped and swallowed.
“I want to help,” Mom said, “but I can’t if I don’t know what’s wrong. Talk to me, sweetie.”
Glory wanted to tell her, but didn’t know what to say. She leaned back into the soft pillow with a doleful sigh. Minus her memory, she seemed to have everything a girl could possibly want, but something was missing.
Chapter 32
The next morning, on Father Winter’s Day, Glory woke to join the family in front of the stoked fireplace. The twins and everyone tore through their presents. The room looked as if a pack of rabid dogs had taken out their frustrations on a paper factory. Glory learned that she already owned a purple Sliver, had gotten one last year on her birthday, but she was still grateful to receive Space Raiders, version four, from Father Winter. She opened a lavender Ross & Wesson coat, but she was disappointed to try it on. The thing was a couple of sizes too small and wouldn’t zip. Mom told her not to worry; she’d take her into town to exchange it next week.
Everyone was getting along and seemed to be enjoying themselves. Glory wanted to be part of it, but mostly just watched, spending her time on the floor near the tree because the Alleys felt like strangers to her. Mom sat on the sofa with scissors ready, while Dad sat down beside her with a mixed drink in hand, getting an eyeful from his wife.
"I know things at work have been rough,” Mom said. “But you promised to cut back."
"It's the holidays.” Dad brushed off her disapproval, tilting back the glass to finish the contents in one gulp. He suddenly clutched at his throat.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked, but Dad couldn’t answer.
“Brandon!” Mom yelled. “He’s choking!”
Brandon dropped his presents to rush over. He wrapped his arms around his father's ribcage, giving a hard squeeze over his sternum. A chunk of bone thrust out of his mouth to skid across the wooden floor.
"Thank goodness!” Mom pulled Dad into a tearful embrace.
The twins gawked for a moment, and when they knew everything was fine, quickly turned their attention back to their new loot.
"What the…" Dad said picking up the morsel that had dislodged from his throat. It was a bone.
Mom began to scold. “I told you not to pick at the turkey! It has an hour to go!”
“I swear I haven’t sampled a bite!”
Brandon’s favorite past times were sniffing glue and smoking cigarettes behind the barn. He often caused trouble, but lacked the skills to avert it, yet he had just saved Dad. No one else seemed surprised by his actions, but Glory was astounded.
"Where did you learn how to do that?” Glory marveled.
"CPR class, dummy."
Mom seemed pleased to hear her speak. She patted Glory on the head and gave Brandon a pinch on the arm at his sarcastic comment.
Brandon’s tone lost its edge. "CPR is required for rescue training, Glory.”
"You’re taking rescue training when you can’t even pass your regular classes at school?”
“My grades are fine.”
She gave an incredulous grunt. “Yeah, maybe if you want to stay in high school another ten years.”
Brandon’s eyes narrowed to slits.
Mom stepped between them and explained. “Glory, your brother’s grades are excellent, not that it’s your concern. And the fire chief personally invited Brandon to train with the department.”
“My goal is to be an on-flight paramedic,” he stated.
“Your goal?” Glory scoffed. Brandon normally boasted about his ability not to worry about the future as if lack of planning was some kind of virtue. “Since when have you had any goals? I mean, besides getting high. Why in the world would the rescue squad waste their time on you?”
Brandon’s nostrils flared and he took a step toward Glory. Glory immediately stood with both fists raised in the air, ready to take a swipe at him. “Bring it on, tough guy!”
The rest of t
he family seemed bewildered by Glory’s reaction, as if it were somehow unexpected or unusual. They froze in their spots, making Glory feel as if she’d done something wrong.
“Glory Alley,” Mom finally gasped. “Sick or not, I will not tolerate such behavior in my house!”
“What did I do?” she asked defensively.
“Put your hands down this instant.”
Glory slowly lowered her fists, warily watching Brandon.
"Look!” Patrice broke the tension and pulled a long slender box out of the tree. "We missed one. It’s addressed to the…the Rock Collector?”
“That’s me,” Glory somehow knew.
Mom took the package first, flipping over the nametag with interest. "The writing is smudged, but I think it's from somebody named E. L. Bonnie—or E.L. Boney—I dunno.” She squinted hard and then handed it over. “A friend of yours?"
Glory shrugged and untied the green ribbon. Inside was a long and unusually slender silver spike. She picked it up; twisting it this way and that way, fascinated by the colors dancing along its surface as it caught the lights from the tree.
“Looks like a fat knitting needle,” said Danny. “What kind of stupid gift is that?”
“Must be from Aunt Martha,” Randy surmised.
The room erupted into laughter.
“That’s not a knitting needle.” Patrice corrected.
"Shhh," Dad hushed, watching Glory closely, who was looking at the gift as if it were a poisonous snake. Face screwed up in alarm, her lips moved, but no words came.
"She's remembering something," Mom said as everyone quieted, watching Glory’s face mirror the struggle within.
“El...El...Elboni!" Glory blurted out in triumph.
The family exchanged perplexed glances, except Randy and Danny, who were trying hard to hold in their laughter.
Four years of smells, sounds, sights and feelings whirled back in an instant. She remembered the indigo rock, the Hoogula named Budd, White Feather, Needle, Bone and how she had tricked them. Scenes from Wybb filtered through. She saw Lady Gost and heard the sentence of death by extraction. The Bamboozle and all its doors, how Clash and the others had come through the first one, but were sent back again, except faithful Clash. She physically shuddered at the memory of the Wein, Jason Belway’s fate, and the Weinling who fed upon him.
She remembered other things she'd just as soon forget, such as the fight on the bus, Dad's drunken tirades, Mom's death and the emptiness and shame at having her buried in the welfare plot without a grave marker. Yes, she remembered everything—everything except the years spent in this new reality, with the kinder, gentler Alleys. And she remembered dear little George and his sweet butterfly kisses.
Where was he anyway? She glanced about, expecting to see him playing with a new truck. She scratched her head, realizing that she had not seen a single present for George under the tree. “Where’s George?”
“George?” Mom asked.
Glory hurried to the kitchen, with her parents trailing behind her, expecting to see him curled up in the corner with his blanket. She glanced around, even peeking into the cupboard where he liked to hide.
“George-eee!” She called his name, panic creeping in, but there was no reply. A sinking feeling started at the pit of her stomach. “Oh, no…” She ran from room to room, calling his name. "George!” She turned to her mother, alarm bells screaming inside of her. "Where is he?"
"George?” Mom held a palm over her mouth, eyes watering. “You mean your great, great, Grandpa Kracker?”
"No—I mean my little brother—your son?"
Dad gave Mom a curious look.
"I haven't told a soul that I’m expecting,” Mom said, holding up her palms, shaking her head. “I don’t know where this is coming from.”
"George," Glory pleaded desperately. "Don't you know him?"
Dad let out a long sigh. He walked to the counter and poured himself a drink. Swishing the vodka around in his glass a moment, he then downed it in one gulp. Within seconds, he was choking.
Mom yelled for help.
Brandon rushed in a second time. Another splinter of bone hurled out.
Fingers curled at his mouth, Dad coughed out his words, "What in the heck is going on? I checked first—definitely no bones.”
“The fates are warning you,” Mom said knowingly. “Time to cut back.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Dad said, not sounding totally convinced.
Everyone forgot about Glory and missing George, in the aftermath of Dad's second choking incident.
Glory’s own words spoken in the cemetery reverberated back to her. I wish my Dad would quit with the booze, so he can be nice again. Were Dad’s brushes with death her fault? Worse, had she wished George out of existence? She stood by the back door unnoticed and completely crestfallen. To add salt to the wound Mom was pregnant again. In Glory’s old life, she’d lost mother shortly after the birth of George. Surely, this meant that her mother would die—again. The sound a coffin lid slamming shut echoed across the snowscape.
A sharp pain pierced Glory’s heart. She had forfeited George's life for Mom’s and she was going to die anyway. What a cruel fate. Glory wobbled ever so slightly.
The sound of a car crunching down the gravel lane diverted everyone’s attention.
“They’re here!” Patrice shouted excitedly. “And they’ve brought more presents!”
Chapter 33
The arrival of guests distracted everyone, allowing Glory to steal out onto the back porch without being noticed. Gray clouds muted the sun. Falling snow blurred the vision of Queen’s Mesa in the distance. The black forest she loved so much seemed foreboding now. The rolling white hills were familiar and lovely, but she felt lost and alone.
Shivering, she sunk into a neatly painted red bench, one that hadn’t been there in the old version of her life. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she stared out over the horizon. This was what she had worked so hard to get?
“I want to go home.” Her voice came out a strangled whisper. “But how can I when I’m already here?”
A painful lump swelled in her throat. “George—I’m so sorry…”
She pulled her knees up to her chest and wept bitterly.
After a long while, her body and emotions numb, she considered the idea of allowing herself to freeze to death, but the sound of a clearing throat made her look up.
Three squat men stood before her, each holding a fedora hand—the star riders—she took in a sharp breath. Seeing them again filled her with conflict. On one hand, it was comforting to realize she hadn’t lost her mind. On the other hand, it was terrifying to realize all those crazy things had really happened.
"Those were mighty big wishes,” Needle said. "We tried to warn ye. But what's done is done."
"George is dead!"
"Not dead—never was,” Needle said.
“My mother is doomed!”
“No, no, no,” he shook his head from side to side. “Your mother's fate was not cast in stone. A different set of events have led to this moment, so there be no reason to expect that events will unfold exactly the same way in this new reality, especially not now, since ye’ve unleashed the power."
“The power?” Glory’s throat tightened and her bottom lip quivered. "What have I done?"
"Ye don't know the half of it," Bone said, getting a hard knock in the ribs from Needle.
"The Elboni be back where it belongs—safe and sound,” Needle said. “Did ye get the Nightburner?"
“Yes." Glory held up the silver spike, noting that Needle still had his own Nightburner tucked safely in his hat. “Thank you."
“Thank the Elboni.” Needle corrected. "Another mighty wish. The Nightburner weighs very little, but carrying it requires wide shoulders. May ye find the strength to bear it with honor."
“No one remembers George.” Glory sniffled, struggling to understand. "To be the only person to remember what never was…what no longer is...”
"
Be a terrible burden to carry," Needle said.
"Courage, Rock Collector," White Feather explained. "The form which bound George to Tullah, be no more and never was, yet he remains firmly in the eye of the Elboni. Ye shall see another face, but know ye this, one day the essence hidden beneath someone unfamiliar may well be your own beloved George."
“I don’t understand.”
“Spoken like a wise man,” Bone smiled.
“Ye mean lady,” White Feather said, while Needle patted her hand like a proud father.
"How will I recognize George if he returns to me?"
"Ye will know,” said Bone.
“My father choking on the bones—was that your doing?” Glory asked hurriedly, sensing the star riders’ visit was drawing to a close.
“It be your wish, so it be your doing,” Bone said, holding up the Thunderbone. “Forever in this life hard drink will turn to hard bone upon contact with your father’s throat.”
Glory gulped worriedly. “That sounds dangerous.”
“Aye,” Bone agreed. “Pray he learns fast.”
“You guys were so sure I was tainted, unworthy of the Elboni’s magic, so you didn’t even bother to try to help me. We could have avoided a lot of trouble if you’d just done it at the beginning.”
“Not true,” White Feather said. “Ye weren’t ready for a wish when we first met, and I admit, I never even considered the possibility. Not so with Lady Gost. She recognized your potential from the beginning. That’s why she gave you so many chances, and ordered us star riders to answer all your annoying question.”
“Whaddaya mean annoying?”
“Annoying,” White Feather emphasized. “Through second sight she knew about the list of conditions in your coat pocket, and she knew ye were very close to unlocking the ritual. She used the rules to buy ye time. The Bamboozle, the Wein, were her only options.”
“You mean all the time I thought I was playing you guys, you guys were playing me?”
“We were as much in the dark as ye. Lady Gost played us all.”
‘Aye,” said Bone. “The laws be set in stone, so she worked within them, encouraging ye to find the goodness within. That ye did, preserving Wybb, saving your family, and setting Tullah on a strange new course.”
Glory Alley and the Star Riders (The Glory Alley Series) Page 29
