Between (The Chronicles of Between, #1)

by L.L. Starling

“You have a master’s degree—navigating a map should be child’s play.” “I have a master’s in psychology, not cartography. The skills aren’t transferable ... unless you want me to probe the map about its deep-seated anxiety issues.”

“And there will be no loud noise-making of any description. Nor will you be coming in at all hours of the night like flibbertigibbets.

“And there will be no”—Miss Adeline’s small mouth pursed in distaste as if she was sucking on a pickled egg—“gentleman callers hidden in your room under any circumstances.” “Yes, Miss Adeline,” Sasha said obediently. “What if they hide in the bathroom instead?” Lyla asked.

Miss Adeline and Sasha turned to Lyla, both wearing identical incredulous expressions. “I beg your—” Miss Adeline began. “Or in a closet?” Lyla persisted. Sasha cleared her throat meaningfully. “Yes, Miss Adeline,” Lyla said, sighing.

Lyla paled. She turned to Sasha, her hazel eyes wide with horror. “No dogs. No gentleman callers. No gallivanting. No Wi-Fi.” Sasha shrugged helplessly. Miss Adeline gestured to the far wall. “You will find postcards at your disposal in the writing desk.” “Well, thank goodness for that,” Lyla said. “I was starting to regret not bringing my carrier pigeon.” “No pets,” Miss Adeline said.

“It’s only for three weeks. You’ll survive.” “Will I?” Lyla gave her phone a fond pat and sat back against her pillows. “Three whole weeks without the Internet, and no staying out late, bad language, or men—that’s four of my favorite pastimes outlawed. Talk about deprivation.” She sighed deeply. “And I won’t even have a lewd dog to console me ...”

Sasha suppressed a smile. “Well, do you have any questions you want to ask me before we begin?” Joanna raised her hand. “Yes, Joanna?” “What happened to our last teacher, Ms. Fletcher?” Before Sasha could answer, Mason raised his hand. “Did you have to fight her for this job? With a sword?” “Ah … no. I didn’t,” Sasha said. “When you’re a kindergarten teacher, swords aren’t usually part of the interview process.” Mason raised his hand again. “What about in Viking times?” “Maybe,” Sasha conceded. “But not in modern-day Old Middleton. I’m not sure what happened to Ms. Fletcher,” she said, trying to steer the conversation back to less pointy topics. “I can ask Headmistress Dean when I meet with her this afternoon. Anything else?” Bryce raised his hand. “Can you also ask her what happened to Ms. Gonzalez?” “And Ms. Chandra,” Kaytie added. Sasha heard the distinct sound of warning bells. “Sure. I’ll ask about all of them.” Extensively, she thought to herself, wondering why so many teachers had left the school without saying goodbye to their students. Unless the students were the reason they had fled …

“Although officially established in 1858,” she began, “it is believed that Old Middleton—then named simply ‘Middleton’—was actually founded much earlier.” “How much earlier?” the woman in the polka-dot coat asked. “That is the subject of vigorous debate,” Shae answered. “Some local historians believe that it could be as early as the end of the eighteenth century. What is known is that the original settlers were four families: the Lennoxes, the Carters, the Godwins, and the Deans—” “And they were running away from the Salem witch trials, right?” Travis interrupted.

Shae’s lips twitched. “Right. Well, as you both know, that’s only a theory. It’s much more likely that the families settled in Old Middleton because the land was free territory and unwanted by the local indigenous tribes.” “Because it was cursed?” Lucas asked hopefully. Shae snorted and adjusted her sash. “No, because it looked uninhabitable.” She gestured around her. “All of this was once forested wetlands. It took a lot of work to turn this land into a village. But the land was very fertile, and the surrounding forest not only provided protection but plentiful hunting. That’s most likely why they chose to settle here.” “Yeah, the witch theory is better,” Travis said. “It really is,” Lyla said. “Much more interesting,” the woman in the polka-dot coat agreed. “I guess so,” Shae acknowledged with a laugh. “Irrespective of whether or not the four founding families were witches, or had been accused of witchcraft, it is said that Old Middleton became a haven for those escaping persecution from witch trials across the country.” “Go founding families!” Lyla said.

Shae gestured to the street around them. “Unfortunately, the village that you see today bears little resemblance to the one built by the Founders. In October 1861, the village was beset by several natural disasters, including a terrible fire—” “Fire,” Lyla said longingly, huddling closer to Sasha. “—which destroyed Main Street and most of the surrounding homes. The disasters displaced many of the citizens, but those who remained rebuilt the village, creating the Old Middleton you see today. When the founding families fixed or rebuilt their homes, they decided to give them in trust to the village. The Dean Family mansion became the Old Middleton Elementary School; the Lennox Family mansion the Village

Hall; the Carter Family mansion became the Boarding House for Genteel Young Women of Unimpeachable Reputation—” Sasha and Lyla exchanged looks. “—and the Godwin Family mansion became the Old Middleton Finishing School for Young Women.”

Sasha and Lyla fled back to the boarding house—Sasha laughing while Lyla cursed—leaving their lanterns behind. As the storm began, their pennies settled on the bottom of the well—a well far more ancient than any of the tour group could have imagined—and waited.

Lyla’s eyes narrowed. “I know that you’re trying to stall for time by taking the longest sip of soda ever consumed by a human—” Sasha defiantly kept sipping. “—but it may help if you say it aloud. Go on. Say it. Say—” Polka Fever triumphantly played their final note. “—the Headmistress of Old Middleton Elementary is a drink-spiking psychopath,” Lyla yelled into the sudden silence. Sasha spat her soda across the table. For one excruciating moment, everyone around them appeared frozen in time, Lyla’s words echoing boldly across the restaurant. Then, everyone moved at once. The band members lowered their instruments and stared at Lyla in disbelief; the diners turned toward the two women, their forks suspended halfway to their mouths; and Luigi himself stood up from his chair behind the cash register to get a better look at Lyla, the ends of his bushy mustache twitching incredulously. Even the saucy Italian starlet appeared to be staring at Lyla, her pout now more shocked than sultry. “…is the name of my death metal band,” Lyla improvised gamely. An awkward silence ensued. The leader of Polka Fever cleared his throat. “A shout out to a fellow band, The Headmistress of Old Middleton Elementary is a Drink-Spiking Psychopath. Can’t wait to hear your work.” He nodded politely to Lyla. Sasha covered her face with her hands. “Our next song is called ‘Goat Whisperer.’ ”

“Uncontrollable truth-telling, hey? Sounds familiar.” Sasha nodded slowly. “It does.” She pulled a few dollars out of her wallet. “Are you up for a fact-finding mission?” “Of the occult variety?” Sasha placed her money on the table. “Yes.” Lyla picked up her napkin and quickly wiped her hands. “Let’s do this!” she cried, slamming her napkin onto the table. She looked down at the crumpled paper ball and frowned. “Possibly with a little less aggression.” “Yes,” Sasha said, looking at the napkin. “Let’s keep this civilized.”

“... in some cases, a dream may be a portal to the mind—a manifestation of our fears and insecurities. In others, a dream may be a message—a portent of things to come …” Sasha frowned. “This seems too coincidental. Are you trying to tell me something?” she asked the book. The book, unsurprisingly, was silent. Nevertheless, Sasha quickly scanned the rest of the page, hoping to find something that related to her recent dream experiences.

“Here,” Mrs. Landshome said, handing Sasha a steaming cup of coffee during recess. “Drink this. It’ll fix all your ills.” “Thanks!” Sasha said. “Just what I—” She paused as the unmistakable smell of hard spirits wafted up from the cup, making her eyes water. “Mrs. Landshome, did you spike this coffee with alcohol?” “No,” the old woman said. “I spiked the alcohol with coffee. It’s the better way to do it.”

“Lyla, if you’re wrong about this, I’ll kill you. No, worse—I’ll hide your reading glasses.”

“Oh, no.” Sasha shook her head. Time was running out—she could feel it. “I’m done searching for answers. I think they should come to us. Rosa, please ask everyone in your secret magic tattoo club to come to join us for tea today at five at the boarding house. Given that I’ve ‘crossed over,’ I’m sure they’ll want to see me just as much as I want to see them.” Rosa looked up at Sasha admiringly. “Look at you, taking charge of your destiny!” “She’s growing up so fast,” Lyla said dryly.

“We packed you some cookies,” Martha said, even more gruffly than

usual, pressing a shiny, blue tin into Sasha’s hands. “Heaven knows what they’ll have to eat in that place,” Miss Adeline muttered, her lips pursed disapprovingly. “Cookies? Bah, you’ll need whiskey to get through this,” Mrs. Landshome said, handing Sasha a small bottle of spirits. The old woman tugged on Sasha’s sweater, forcing Sasha to crouch down until they were at eye level. “He may be a sorcerer,” she whispered, “but if he gives you any trouble, knee him in the gonads—it’s hard to summon magic when you’re crying on the floor like a baby.”

“I am standing right here,” Lorn said flatly. “I know,” Mrs...

“Damn. I was hoping it happened while I was unconscious. How I am supposed to get all of this done and a Lunar Crossing?” “Probably shouldn’t get blown up again today,” Izzy said. “Or your list will be even longer tomorrow,” the imp with the gold waistcoat added. “Excellent advice. I shall—” Lorn stopped as a torturous growl filled the room. He stared down at his midsection in shock. “Was that my stomach?”

“Ah, optimism.” Maddox shook his head. “The second leading cause of death in Between.”

“Any last words?” the ambassador asked Lorn solicitously. “My condolences to whoever wins,” Lorn said.

“Careful,” his Shadow warned. Suddenly, a blast of silver light burst forth from the Portal and engulfed Lorn. “Lorn!” the Shadow called out, shielding his eyes from the light. When the Shadow managed to turn back, the light—and Lorn—had disappeared, leaving behind an odd bell tone that echoed through the chamber. Gold dust pooled on the floor where Lorn had stood mere seconds before.

The Shadow shook his head disapprovingly. “And ... he is gone.” He turned to the imps. “I told him to be careful, did I not?” The imps nodded. “Was good advice,” Izzy said. “Thank you,” the Shadow said. “He never listens to me. I am not just here for my looks, dammit!” He stared at the Portal for a long moment. When Lorn did not reappear, he groaned in frustration. “We need to find him. Best be careful when you venture near the Hill—the Nightmares might be roaming.”

Just as he was about to rise, there was a series of cracks as the three imps reappeared. “Yo, Mirror Man. Can’t find the King,” Izzy said. “Nowhere,” Setzl said. “Or anywhere,” the imp with the small notebook added.

Lorn cleared his throat. The imps turned and stared at their drenched monarch in surprise. “Found him,” Izzy said. “Many thanks,” the Shadow said dryly. “Job well done.” Izzy smirked at Lorn’s wet clothing. “Go swimming, hey Boss?” “In a manner of speaking,” Lorn said. “And on that note, I am off to bed.”

Something in Lorn, the part of him that kept him wary, the part that held him safe, shied away from that pretty, silver book. All at once, he knew … he knew … that this was the beginning of something irrevocable. Laying his hand on this book would be the act that separated his life neatly into two portions—the one he had lived before this moment and the one after—and he was not sure if this would be the making of him or the destruction of everything he was.

“You forget two things: first, this will be a Joining—there will be no pouncing.” The Shadow grimaced. “True. Damn Joinings; all the horrors of a matrimony with none of the benefits.”