Keeper of the Mirror by Theresa Nellis

Author:Theresa Nellis [Nellis, Theresa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atmosphere Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

chapter 11

The Best of Both Worlds

B

ael says, “It’s time to go.”

Peter reaches out and takes his father’s hand, but he lets out a loud moan. Peter’s eyes drop, and he releases the disinterested hand.

Hands-free, Bael and Peter flash from BARF to the Powell House.

Peter sighs and says, “Ugh, I just can’t seem to stay away from this place. For that matter, I could stand to stay away from BARF, too.”

Bael turns to Peter with a cold fury and says, “Stay—out—of—my—way.”

Unable to leave that comment unchecked, Peter quips, “Talk about gratitude! You’d still be using that stupid jagged rock to record your tally marks if it wasn’t for me.”

But quickly sensing Bael’s fury oozing from every pore of his flesh like mucus from a squished snail—Peter drops down and fumbles with his shoes. Then he busies himself repeatedly tying, untying, and retying his shoelaces like a student walking in a school hallway.

Bael’s brilliant blue eyes swirl. With his gaze fixed on the front door, he births shards of ice from his eyes.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

It pierces the wood door with razor-sharp daggers. The sound echoes off the door like the booming from a drum circle.

Bael’s blond hair flies wildly about as if caught in a fast-approaching tropical storm.

Peter lets out a sharp whistle and says, “Fabio has nothing on you.”

Then, Bael turns back and casts projectile shards of ice at the corners of Peter’s shirt, stringing him to the porch like a scarecrow.

Just then, a bat circles over Peter’s head like a fighter jet passing over a football stadium after the national anthem.

Peter screams, “Hey, bats don’t come out during the day—”

But before he finishes, the black-winged creature poops on his upturned forehead. The excrement oozes down the sides of Peter’s face before streaming right into his gaping mouth.

His mouth pools with a medley of bat dung and saliva as he tries not to swallow.

Flailing wildly, he pulls his shirt free from its bindings, leaving behind quarter-sized holes.

Once he’s free, Peter falls to all fours and spits the tarry black substance out until his saliva runs clear.

Looking up, he screams, “Omar, if that was you—you’re a dead bat!”

Bael confidently closes his eyes and upturns his all-too-steady palms.

A tiny flicker appears in each hand, growing until they morph into unforgiving balls of fire. Bright red and yellow droplets fall from each hand, landing on the earth below and charring the grass before slowly simmering out.

The heat liquefies the metal doorknob until it is nothing more than a drippy, metallic blob on the ground.

The Powell House had remained in the family for hundreds of years—affording each subsequent generation protection from evil.

But as the old saying goes, “To whom much is given, much is expected.”

Unfortunately, pure magic draws dark magic to it like moths to a streetlight—pitting good against evil on the quiet cul-de-sac of Crestfallen Court.

The ancestral protection contained within the home had successfully fended off the Nosy Neighbor and Miss Darcy for the past thirteen years—only allowing them to walk by the house but never to enter it.

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