1st 5 Pages July Workshop - Hicks Rev 2

Name: Heather Hicks

Genre: Young Adult Fantasy

Title: BALANCE KEEPERS: THE WALKING SHADOW

PITCH:

Finley Blaise has spent most of her life hiding in plain sight.  A few trips to Juvie and the threat of institutionalization have a way of teaching a girl the value of a well-told lie.  But when her foster Dad goes missing, and she’s forced to take shelter at his old school, Terreau Volcanaeris, a science and technology academy shrouded in mystery, she realizes her lying skills are novice-level.  At best.

There, Finley discovers a secret society that has been working for hundreds of years to conceal one dangerous truth: the four Humours—yep, those weird bodily fluids (blood, bile, and phlegm) that your English teacher glossed over while forcing you to sort-of-skim Shakespeare—really do determine a person’s nature.  And worse.  What about science and the Enlightenment you ask?  Smoke and mirrors, folks.

At Terreau, Finley can finally come out of hiding and set her freakish abilities free.  But when the life of a new friend is threatened, she’s forced to team up with a cocky Scot and an Algerian immigrant and take a leap of faith back into the eleventh century, where witches haunt her dreams and villains are both foul and fair, to face a truth only known to a few, to fight for a twenty-first century future she would never have believed possible.

PAGES:

The first time the fire came to me, I woke up with a broken nose and a mouthful of silt and stone.  I was twelve.  It was the middle of the night.  And I felt the cold, for the first time in as long as I could remember. 

I’d gone to Fuller Brook to hide.  The painful cramping had been coming so often, and the hallucinations…well, they were no longer possible to hide.  Then, the fire came again, and there were nothing but questions.  From school officials.  The police.  The court-appointed therapist.  None of my answers would have been even close to plausible.  So, I told them lies.  They didn’t believe those either, of course, but that’s the thing about adults and unlikely situations—they like to create their own truths. 

It’s funny how a single truth can take so many shapes.

Take my reflection in the lavatory mirror that I’ve been staring at for the past few minutes, as I hold my hands under the pathetic stream of water coming from the tiny sink.  Everything about my outward appearance—from my pale, freckled skin to my rounded light eyes—projects vulnerability, naivete even.  Yet, if the Air Marshall were to worry about one passenger on this flight, it should be me, the juvenile who was sent to the meet the pilot during boarding, because she was—sniff, sniff—having to fly all alone. 

Usually, my foster Dad, Jefferson, comes to me for the few weeks we have together each summer, but this year, he’s the key-note speaker at some science symposium in Edinburgh, Scotland.  He thought it would be good for me to get away.  See the sights. 

So…here I am.  A girl who can create fire with a wish.  In a storm on an airplane, where very flammable oxygen is being pumped into the air. 

I sigh, when someone bangs on the door.  “Ocupado.”

“Miss.”  It’s the grim-faced flight attendant.  “We’re about to land.  You’ll have to take your seat.”

While the rest of the unsuspecting passengers have been doing what passengers do on Trans-Atlantic flights, I’ve been practicing my Yoga breathing and making a trip to the WC every half hour to…relieve the pressure.  Obviously, she’s noticed the frequency.

I dry my hands with a flick of heat.  Small flames encase my hands, then suck back in through my pores.  When I slide open the door, she’s waiting.

“You could get in trouble for smoking on an airplane,” she whispers warningly, as I slip past her. 

If only my primary concern was emphysema as a senior citizen.  I doubt I even live that long, but I’d certainly like for the rest of the people on board to have that chance. 

By the time the plane’s wheels touch down on the tarmac, my exhale is at volcano steam-vent level, but when I’m finally able to exit the plane and head up the ramp toward baggage claim with the rest of the herd, the tension begins to recede.  

I catch my first glimpse of Jefferson’s pasty, bald head down the concourse…and the dial moves as close to calm as a freak like me can get.  Seeing his goofy face after so long is like winning front row tickets to an Imagine Dragons concert and a new iPhone to film it with all on the same day. 

I’ve missed him.  The bland, rubbery meals.  The ridiculous quizzes on the periodic table, Latin root words, and the books we’ve read together-apart.  Even the awkward conversations about my non-existent (and-definitely-not-ready-to-talk-about) sex life.  But, as the distance between us narrows, I realize something’s not right.  His expression’s off.  Where’s the crooked smile and embarrassing waving?  And, where the heck is the bowtie?

When he breaks into a jog, it’s like a slap to the face.  First, because the man only gets excitable about a few things, all of which—besides my grades—are physics related.  Second, Jefferson isn’t really the running type.  At all.  In fact, most days, he moves at sloth-speed.  He’s more an I prefer to exercise-my-synapses type of guy. 

And…just like that.  My already pathetic version of Zen?  Poof.

Run. 

I squeeze my backpack straps tightly and suck in a breath, yanking the memory back where it belongs.  The residual uneasiness does have me picking up my knees.  I cover twice the distance Jefferson does in the same amount of time.  My birthparents must have been lightyears ahead of his in terms of athletic evolution. 

We collide in a desperate hug.  “Oh, thank God.  Thank God,” he mumbles, pulling back, but still gripping my shoulders.  “You’re alright.”

I smile, trying to reassure him, because he looks wrecked.  “I’m good.”

“Okay.  Okay.” 

“What’s wrong?”

“We have to get out of here.”  He takes my hand and begins pulling me toward the exit, head swiveling, searching.

Instinct tells me, he doesn’t just mean out of the airport.  “What?  We’re not staying?  What about your presentation?  Nessie?  Your puke face I was planning to film, when you try haggis?”  When he doesn’t take the bait, I get serious.  “Where?”

“I don’t know.”  He doesn’t stop scanning the sea of people.  “I’ll…I’ll figure it out.”

We’re heading toward the exit.  “What about my bag?”

“We’ll have to leave it.” 

“Jefferson?”  I think about the things in there.  My favorite pair of jeans.  My Green Bay sweatshirt.  Everything else I thought I might need this summer.  “What’s going on?  Talk to me!”  I pull against his hold, but his grip is surprisingly strong for a guy who spends ten hours a day analyzing particle accelerator data. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.  I thought we’d have more time.  Thought I’d done everything to cover our tracks.”

Cover our tracks?  “Jefferson, what’s happened?” 

“I’ll tell you all about it.  Everything.  After we get out of here.” 

But he stutters to a stop forty yards from the main entrance, looking like he’s seen a ghost.  All I see are strangers.  Lots of people sitting around bored and waiting, some moving with intent.  The same view you see at any airport, but something has obviously spooked him. 

Then, just as suddenly, he’s shoving me towards a bathroom, one of those reserved for families with small children.  “In.  Inside.”  Luckily, it’s empty.  As soon as we’re inside, he presses the door closed and throws the lock.  It’s dark.  He doesn’t flick on the lights. 

I squeeze his hand.  “Jefferson, you’re scaring me.”  And, when I get scared, bad things happen. 

He squeezes back, but his voice remains all business.  “Listen to me, sweetheart.  We have to separate.  It will be safer for you that way.  You remember the code, right?” 

Run.  Don’t stop.

“Yes,” I manage, but it’s barely a whisper.  The code was always just something he reminded me about, sort of like flossing.  He’d regularly stress its importance, and I’d nod and wait until he left the room to go back to whatever I was doing.

He sniffs deeply.  “Breathe, Finley.  It’s going to be okay.”

Jefferson adopted me when I was ten.  Rescued me, really, and loved me, when he didn’t have to.  It’s been the two of us against the world for almost as long as I can remember.  We’ve never talked directly about the fire, but he knows there’s something not normal about me.  Just like I know about the secret he pretends to keep from me. 

Still, I trust him more than anyone, so I breathe deep and grip control by the throat.