– A wall plaque located somewhere in The Bristol House Library

   

Excerpt Chapter Twelve

      “Did you sleep well last night?”

      “Mmm.” Heather took a drink of her milk. She swallowed. “Pretty

good, I guess. I had a strange dream, though.”

      “Did you, now?” Grandma Dawn said, sitting and sliding in towards

the table, her cup of coffee and small bowl of berry-covered oatmeal

before her. “Want to tell me about it?”

      Heather nodded vigorously, milk and waffle being worked over in her

mouth. “Well,” she said, adding a few more chews before swallowing the

soggy assortment, “I was a bird and I flew to an old school.”

      Grandma Dawn was unfolding the newspaper, her attention drawn

to the splash of headline. “Uh-huh,” she said, absently, her eyes grabbing

at details in the finer print. “An old school?”

      “Yeah. It was the MaidenHall Academy of the ShadowSlip Wood, in

Autumnsloe.”

      Grandma Dawn’s attention stayed fixed to the paper, but she was no

longer reading. 

Excerpt Chapter Thirty-Seven

      Breaking out, shedding the frosty luminescence of cloud cover, the circular moon cast its blue-green light over the impassive face of the Bristol House. Near the weighty presence of the dwelling, Heather stood in the garden, feeling at one with the moon and its aloneness, finding its soft glow comforting, the wicked twist of trees attractive, and the impenetrable shadows inviting. The air had cooled, and despite the parting of clouds, a light sprinkle had begun to fall.

Excerpt Chapter Fourteen

Grandma Dawn musing:  And although the coming of the Reclamation was foretold, we never really knew for sure, did we? I know at times I wrestled with my doubts. Yet, here we are: Heather and Autumnsloe. What joy! What absolute joy! Imagine, the Evermore Portent coming to fruition during my lifetime, becoming the impetus for what we always hoped would be our deliverance, our redemption. But of course, the child could still die, and the bloom of promise with her, if she’s not carefully tended—especially if our enemies suspect she’s the One. They will have no choice but to seek her out and kill her to retain their power, their control. And so many lives depend on her security and prosperity. Heather may very well be at the hub of the Reclamation, yet so much can go wrong; so much can be taken away with merely a shrug from the Universe. I know. I remember…

Excerpt Chapter One

      Mr. Simpletripp grabbed the lumpy bag and turned to leave. When Molly saw the bulge in the burlap sack and the seeping spread of crimson, she gasped. Simpletripp stopped. For a moment he didn’t move—as if a tumble of thoughts provoked by Molly’s small cry caused his gears to momentarily disengage. Slowly his head rotated, scanning the creek. He stopped at the sight of the girls. Without the slightest movement, the parties contemplated one another. Then, with ominous gravity, Mr. Simpletripp turned his body and started upstream toward the girls.

Excerpt Chapter Twelve

     “A game!”

     “What?”

     “It’s a game, Molly. Don’t you see? It’s the Bristol House,” Heather looked about admiringly, speaking to the room. “It wants to play a game with us.”

     “A game of what? What are we supposed to do?”

     Heather read the poem aloud. “Well, I think it wants us to go to this place.” She handed the paper to Molly. “Only, we don’t know where it is, so we have to figure it out.”

     “But what’s there?”

     “Molly, that’s the game. We find out when we arrive.”