Below is an excerpt from Staked! the third book in the BryonySeries trilogy.
“Well now, John-Peter,” Steve said, “Are they straight?”
John-Peter edged away from the tree, picked up his water jug, and studied the results. His grandfather hadn’t lost the knack for perfect lights. No crooked rows, no bare patches.
“It looks great, Grandpa,” John-Peter said.
“Then see if you can find the star while I check the chili and start the cornbread. Maybe we can get all the ornaments hung before lunch.”
“Ten-four.”
John-Peter gave the lights another approving look. The tree scented the entire room with pine, and it was, as Steve had said, a real beauty. It stood just shy enough from the ceiling to hold a topper and its lush, bluish branches partly obscured the room’s large picture window.
With less than a week left until Christmas, most people in Munsonville had their Christmas trees up and decorated, but not his grandfather. Steve wanted to maximize its freshness. He hadn't sent Jack to fetch it until yesterday.
John-Peter knelt on the floor by the smallest box and peeled back the tape. Nothing but the manger scene. He moved to another box. He was dying to go back to Eircheard’s, but an opportunity to do so would be long in coming. During Katie’s work hours, Karla now had to stay at her grandparents’ house. He wished Karla would hurry up and perfect teleportation. Then maybe she could figure out a way to get him back inside the pawn shop from their respective residences. That would thwart Katie’s control trip.
The star wasn’t in this box either. The boy scooted to the next box. What kind of portal had Cornell been seeking? And why did he think Eircheard could direct him to it?
An agitated Karla had called him that first night--once the mothers had finished their respective, loud venting--demanding an answer: Why did Eircheard have a leprechaun that matched the one John-Peter carried in his pocket?
“Maybe they were mass produced back in the 1960s, and Eircheard got lucky,” John-Peter had said, watching Bertrand swat at a tiny cheese cracker Karla hovered just out his reach.
“Will you get serious? Who'd want to buy such an ugly thing?” She tossed the cracker past the blocks, and Bertrand leaped over them in frantic pursuit of dinner. “I wonder what the words mean.”
John-Peter leaned against the bed and clasped his hands behind his neck. “That's easy."
“You can read them?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So are you going to tell?”
“Bertrand wants another cracker.”
A shower of orange squares rattled onto the floor. Bertrand’s eyes bulged with delight, and he dove into the pile. “Satisfied?”
John-Peter ignored the smirk in her voice. “Remember how you said Cornell was looking for a portal, and Eircheard said something about doors?”
“Yeah, so?”
“’Cha d’dhuin doras nach d’fhosgail doras’ means ‘No door ever closed, but another opened."
Karla was quiet for a moment. “How do you know that?” The sarcastic tone was gone.
John-Peter closed his eyes and sleepiness sailed him to the top of a large oak tree where the wind rustled the leaves, and the boughs echoed with the hollow notes of Fawn’s tin whistle. He reopened his eyes, but the lids remained heavy, and he had to concentrate on forming the words.
“I’m not certain," John-Peter said slowly as he watched Bertrand enthusiastically nibbled a corner off one cracker, then another, and another. “I just know it.”
Still no star. He reached for the last box. Even before he unwrapped the first package, the boy felt points poking out of the newspaper. “Got it!”
The response from the kitchen was a loud clatter.
“Grandpa!”
Silence, scary silence.
“Well now, John-Peter,” Steve said, “Are they straight?”
John-Peter edged away from the tree, picked up his water jug, and studied the results. His grandfather hadn’t lost the knack for perfect lights. No crooked rows, no bare patches.
“It looks great, Grandpa,” John-Peter said.
“Then see if you can find the star while I check the chili and start the cornbread. Maybe we can get all the ornaments hung before lunch.”
“Ten-four.”
John-Peter gave the lights another approving look. The tree scented the entire room with pine, and it was, as Steve had said, a real beauty. It stood just shy enough from the ceiling to hold a topper and its lush, bluish branches partly obscured the room’s large picture window.
With less than a week left until Christmas, most people in Munsonville had their Christmas trees up and decorated, but not his grandfather. Steve wanted to maximize its freshness. He hadn't sent Jack to fetch it until yesterday.
John-Peter knelt on the floor by the smallest box and peeled back the tape. Nothing but the manger scene. He moved to another box. He was dying to go back to Eircheard’s, but an opportunity to do so would be long in coming. During Katie’s work hours, Karla now had to stay at her grandparents’ house. He wished Karla would hurry up and perfect teleportation. Then maybe she could figure out a way to get him back inside the pawn shop from their respective residences. That would thwart Katie’s control trip.
The star wasn’t in this box either. The boy scooted to the next box. What kind of portal had Cornell been seeking? And why did he think Eircheard could direct him to it?
An agitated Karla had called him that first night--once the mothers had finished their respective, loud venting--demanding an answer: Why did Eircheard have a leprechaun that matched the one John-Peter carried in his pocket?
“Maybe they were mass produced back in the 1960s, and Eircheard got lucky,” John-Peter had said, watching Bertrand swat at a tiny cheese cracker Karla hovered just out his reach.
“Will you get serious? Who'd want to buy such an ugly thing?” She tossed the cracker past the blocks, and Bertrand leaped over them in frantic pursuit of dinner. “I wonder what the words mean.”
John-Peter leaned against the bed and clasped his hands behind his neck. “That's easy."
“You can read them?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So are you going to tell?”
“Bertrand wants another cracker.”
A shower of orange squares rattled onto the floor. Bertrand’s eyes bulged with delight, and he dove into the pile. “Satisfied?”
John-Peter ignored the smirk in her voice. “Remember how you said Cornell was looking for a portal, and Eircheard said something about doors?”
“Yeah, so?”
“’Cha d’dhuin doras nach d’fhosgail doras’ means ‘No door ever closed, but another opened."
Karla was quiet for a moment. “How do you know that?” The sarcastic tone was gone.
John-Peter closed his eyes and sleepiness sailed him to the top of a large oak tree where the wind rustled the leaves, and the boughs echoed with the hollow notes of Fawn’s tin whistle. He reopened his eyes, but the lids remained heavy, and he had to concentrate on forming the words.
“I’m not certain," John-Peter said slowly as he watched Bertrand enthusiastically nibbled a corner off one cracker, then another, and another. “I just know it.”
Still no star. He reached for the last box. Even before he unwrapped the first package, the boy felt points poking out of the newspaper. “Got it!”
The response from the kitchen was a loud clatter.
“Grandpa!”
Silence, scary silence.
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