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SUMMER READING CORNER

Reggie & Ryssa and the Scavenger Hunt, by Bo Savino

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Prologue: Eye of the Storm

      Disbelief. The utter feeling that what is happening just can’t be happening—even when it is happening, and what is happening is taking place here and now. Desperation. The feeling you get when you are willing to do anything to change the current situation and make it go away. Disbelief and desperation—a double d dose of reality. That was what Ryssa was totally immersed in and fighting against with every magical tooth and nail in her body.

      A whimper of distress escaped her lips. Distress—another d word she wanted to remove from her vocabulary. Focus—a good old-fashioned f word. That’s what she needed but wasn’t finding through the fear. Ryssa looked at the others who made up the rest of the circle sitting smack dab in the middle of Debra Chambly’s living room.

      Hammie, his crystal blue eyes staring back at her out of a boyishly round face, was a year older than she was, but seemed so much younger. That stupid d word—desperation—looked back at her out of those eyes, mingled with something else—hope. Ryssa’s heart sank. Hammie’s hope was resting entirely on her. He believed that she’d get them out of this. She swallowed back the thought and looked away.

      Moira and Jet sat at the other side of the little circle from Hammie. Moira was to Ryssa’s left with her twin, Jet, next to her. The deep brown eyes of the Phooka twins locked with hers. Moira’s eyes held concern and the chocolate-colored skin of her forehead was scrunched all the way up to the ebony black braids of her hairline, her eyes pleading with Ryssa to tell her it was going to be okay. The weight of responsibility felt heavy to Ryssa. Moira was almost four years older than she was, yet the older girl was looking for comfort from her.

      Jet, by contrast, stared at Ryssa with resolute determination. A single firm, but short nod bounced his long, tiny braids down his back, telling Ryssa he was there for her no matter what she needed. Ryssa smiled tightly in response. She looked up and met the clear blue gaze of her own twin sitting across the circle from her, in between Hammie and Jet.

      She loved the color of her twin’s eyes. They were a beautiful sky blue that was a marked contrast to the mud brown color of hers. Ryssa adored her brother, that other, almost opposite aspect of herself. He was very intelligent and she had never considered herself intellectual in any way. She was more of a social creature, guided by instinct and emotions, while he was more technically minded. His thoughts turned inward more often, while hers had the tendency to fall out of her mouth before she had time to think about what she was saying.

      That didn’t appear to be the case at the moment. Now, she was holding back worried thoughts, trying not to let fear and concern spill over to the others around her. Reggie, on the other hand, let the full compassion and confidence he felt in her speak loudly from his heart in the look on his face.

     “It’s okay, Ryss. You can do this. We have to do this.”

     Ryssa gave him the same, tight smile she had given Jet, mimicking the Phooka boy’s nod of determination. She set her chin, ready to dive back into the web of magic winding its way through the circle, connecting them all into a singular force of will.

     “Well, if you guys really can do something, it had better be quick,” a voice from outside the circle shattered the focus she fought to reach.

     Ryssa shot her foster brother, Terry, an irritated look. His cropped, wavy dark curls wrapped themselves loosely around his head, intertwining with the earpiece that trailed a wire down to the radio in the palm of his hand.

     “What?” He shrugged his shoulders, holding out his hands defensively. “They’re saying that the hurricane is not slowing down. It’s heading directly for the Bay Area—which puts us in West Chapel on the bad side of the storm—and it’s still a Cat Two. It’s barely slowing down.”

     Ryssa closed her eyes, shaking her head slowly at the interruption while she fought to clear her mind and focus.

     This can’t be happening, the thought crossed her mind with despair.

     “:But it is happening:,” an insistent voice entered her mind.

     Ryssa didn’t have to look down to know that if she did, two black eyes would be looking up at her from out of a burgundy-colored crystal set on top of a fancy carved stick with arms and legs. Darkwind, the Sprite who inhabited her wand, had taken annoyance to an extreme of late. It was as though the Sprite were purposefully trying to goad her into losing her temper. She tried equally hard not to lose control.

      On their thirteenth birthday, which immediately followed the end of their seventh grade school year, the lives of Ryssa and her twin had been turned upside down. They had always known that Debra Chambly wasn’t their real mother—or at least not by blood. To them, she was the only real mother the twins had ever known. It was the night before their thirteenth birthday that Mary Rutridge, the caseworker for their special fosterage situation arranged through the Silverwood’s Adoption Agency, showed up at the door of Debra Chambly’s home. She announced that from that day forward, Ryssa and her twin would be spending their summers at camp and getting to know their blood relations a little better.

      Reggie had been intrigued by the idea and yet put off by the fact that relatives who hadn’t wanted them in the first place all of the sudden decided that now they did. For Ryssa, the whole concept was nothing short of social suicide and wanted no part of being separated from what little social ranking she had worked so hard to achieve through the years.

       But there had been no choice. Ryssa and her twin were packed off to summer camp. On the way, things got even stranger. The eccentric little Mary Rutridge told the twins their real relatives were Faeries—and that included all of the magic inherently found in that mythical race. In addition, she informed them that their real mother and father had been royalty among the Faery people. Despite the twins’ lack of belief, they found the truth of the magical world to be very real when they were chased onto the island of New Faery by a fireball—right after they had been told it was a fireball that had killed their parents. Both fireballs turned out to be the same one, or at least created by the magic of the same Sprite, Darkwind, who was now bound to Ryssa for life through the wand she carried.

       New Faery turned out to be everything Mary Rutridge had claimed—with quite a few pieces left out. For instance, not long after their arrival in New Faery they found out that Summer Camp was actually the beginning of a series of tests and trials that spanned several years, in order to select replacements among the last generation born to all of Faery for various positions in the Faery Courts. Mary had also failed to tell them that of the original one hundred sixty-nine children chosen as potentials for the trials, just over half remained. The rest had either died or disappeared.

       Ryssa and her twin spent the summer learning more about the world that was the only true heritage left to them by their deceased parents. Magic, creatures of fairy tales and nightmares, intrigue, and Court politics were the realities of that world. Ryssa and Reggie worked together with their fellow teammates from Team Phoenix to bring their Team successfully past elimination through the first year of the competition.

       They had only been back from Faery for a couple of weeks, and already that world was interfering with the quiet life they had once led. Ryssa frowned. To be fair, they were actually bringing aspects of that life out into their more mundane one in the Zombie Zone.

       She shot a quick, distracted glance at Moira and Jet. The Phooka twins had coined the term Zombie Zone. They used it to describe the mortal world where people walked around like the zombies from old horror movies—out of touch with the world around them and living in dead unawareness of the magic that was everywhere, but they had forgotten how to see. Moira and Jet were twins from Faery. They were even from the same House as Ryssa and Reggie—the House of Starborn. So was Hammie. Reggie and Ryssa’s Uncle Aurelius, the current but temporary head of that House, had fostered the five children to families in the Zombie Zone in order to protect them from the same fate so many of the other potentials seemed to be falling victim to.

      “:You’re not concentrating:,” Darkwind’s admonishing tone seeped into the jumble of thoughts in Ryssa’s mind.

      “:Keep quiet:,” Ryssa shot back in irritation, speaking to the Sprite through the mind link. “:I’m doing the best I can:.”

      “:Tell that to your mother when the storm is on top of you, tearing apart the walls of your home. It’s switched directions again. The storm elders have pushed it north to protect New Faery. It’s now coming directly for us:.”

      As though to emphasize Darkwind’s dire warning, Ryssa heard Terry speak up.

     “Uh, guys, trouble. The storm has shifted again. It’s coming straight for us.”

     “Leave my mother out of this,” Ryssa mumbled under her breath. She saw the others exchange worried glances out of the corner of her eye. They were getting used to her continued arguments with Darkwind, but she could see the concern in their faces. They weren’t sure she was up to this.

     If Ryssa were to be honest, she wasn’t sure she was up to it, either. She had an underlying fear in dealing with the storm—in dealing with most kinds of magic she had encountered so far. In order for her to work at the high level of magic needed to accomplish the monumental task, she had to give herself over to the magic. Although so far she had found something resembling control of those powerful forces, more often than not she lost control. Only Reggie seemed to be able to help her find her way back. The end result was that everyone looked at her with fear—as though she were some kind of freak. And she was getting tired of feeling like a freak. She wanted some kind of normalcy back in her life.

      “:Normal isn’t an option:,” Darkwind interjected.

      “:Ryss, are you okay:?” Reggie’s voice came through the twin bond that they had discovered during their time in Faery. “:We have to do something…:”

      “Hey guys,” Terry cut in, “put up or shut up. We’re running out of time here.”

      “:The Storm Elders…:” Darkwind started.

      “:Mom won’t survive this…:” Reggie tried to continue.

      “Now, guys,” insisted Terry.

      The voices assaulted Ryssa both inside and outside her mind, leaving a jumble of confusion, irritation, anxiety, and a sudden burst of anger. Why couldn’t they see that she was trying? Why did all of this have to rest on her? She didn’t deal well with pressure and certainly not of this magnitude. The anger rolled through her, cutting off the voices in her head. With the anger came what she had been lacking—focus and intent.

      Fear and uncertainty vanished. With deliberate ease she threw herself into the shaky web of magic connecting those sitting around her, solidifying it. She could see the glow of the combined magic, the lines connecting to each other, weaving in and out to form a concrete force. Other lines, smaller ones that grew marginally larger as she watched, flopped around with wild frenzy, brightly colored shades of grayish-white. Ryssa felt herself detach from her physical body and instantly her point of view switched to a position somewhere above the group, looking down.

     They’re really afraid of the storm, the idle thought passed through Ryssa’s mind. The magical net woven among the group was made up of purple and blue energy lines interspersed with traces of green. She knew that the purple ones were connections to Air magic, the blue ones were Water magic and the bits of green were connections to Earth magic. Together and properly woven, they created a wall that could be expanded and used to push away the oncoming storm.

      The grayish-white ones, she knew from Darkwind—and from experience—weren’t magical lines as such, but were reflections of the emotions lashing outward from those below her. These were lines of fear.

      “:They are afraid of the storm:,” Darkwind agreed, “:but it is more than that. They are afraid of you:.”

      “:Me:?” Ryssa’s surprise slipped through the link. “:Why are they afraid of me:?”

      “:Look at your body. What do you see:?”

      Ryssa looked down as the Sprite directed. There was a line of another color whipping around her body, passing through the members of the circle. It was a line of deep, dark red, shot though with a spattering of black. She frowned. The line diminished in size as she watched.

      “:What is that:?” Ryssa asked.

      “:It is your anger, and they all feel it. That’s what is making them afraid of you:.”
    
       Ryssa looked at Terry, standing off to the side of the rest of the circle. The line of anger wasn’t touching him. She examined him closer, curious at the small line of grayish-white coming from him, barely noticeable until she looked at it carefully. He’s hardly afraid at all, she mused.

       “:Your foster brother has other issues:,” Darkwind remarked, but didn’t elaborate.

       Ryssa watched Terry’s facial expression change, and his eyes roll back in a look of disgust. She felt the annoyance creep back in.

     “This is worthless,” she heard the mumble under his breath as loudly as though he had spoken into her ear. “I should’ve known better…”

      Ryssa’s line of anger snapped out at Terry before she could think about it. The expression on his face froze as he stopped mid-sentence, looking around to find the source of his sudden discomfort. She saw the tiny line of fear coming out from him grow a little bigger. With almost perverse pleasure, she grabbed that line, adding it to the ones in the circle, and started weaving them all into the magic web to let the emotions become the strength of the force needed to fight the hurricane.

       A frantic pulling caught Ryssa’s attention, and she watched in surprise as Terry’s line of fear bulged in her hands, growing huge in comparison to the others. An expression of pure terror crossed the face of her foster brother. The line in her hand that represented his terror was writhing in a frenzied attempt to pull away from the magic web. Ryssa dropped it in surprise, letting it recoil back to its originator.

      “I’m going to check on mom.” Terry hastily stumbled away from the living room.

      Ryssa almost felt sorry that she had frightened him so badly. She really hadn’t meant to, but part of her was secretly glad—and it was definitely going to make things easier with him gone. His reaction was puzzling, but she didn’t have enough time to work it out. Now that she was detached from her body, she felt the essence of the storm looming on the horizon, putting them at the edge of the danger zone.

       Movement outside the window drew her attention and she watched in fascination as the trees at the edge of the Chambly’s front yard bent under the force of the hurricane winds. Tall and slender, the flexibility of the cypress trees in the face of the winds gave them the appearance of bowing to the oncoming storm. Sporadic rain accompanied the winds, sometimes falling in a gentle drizzle and other times coming down in sideways sheets that blurred the scene outside.

      “:Ryss:,” Reggie’s voice came through the twin-bond, “:umm, do you think we could do something here:?”

      Ryssa snapped her attention back to the circle of magic. She finished weaving the emotional lines into the web and letting their power feed its strength. The added force of the emotions caused the web to swell, to expand, and Ryssa let it grow into a wall of pure power.

       With determination, she sent that wall of force into the direction of the storm, ready to meet it head on. Ryssa was so caught up in the movement of the magic she didn’t even realize when the wall hit the storm, a wall of its own power so solid that it physically shook her body when she slammed into it. Her head throbbed from the impact and a groan escaped from her and into the link that bound her to the others below.

      “:Ryss:,” Reggie’s voice called through the magic link this time, letting the others hear them. “:What happened? Are you okay:?”

      “:Yeah:,” Ryssa called back, trying to push the wall into the force of the storm. It wasn’t budging. “:It felt like I ran head first into a tree:.” She struggled with the magical web, trying to push the storm in any direction, but it pushed back, and Ryssa felt the loss of ground as it inched again in their direction.

      “:It isn’t working, Regg:,” she heard the rising fear she felt communicate itself through the link. “:What are we going to do? It isn’t working:.”

       “:Keep trying:,” Reggie tried to be encouraging, but she could hear the concern in his voice. “:You’re the only hope we have left:.”

       “:Gee, thanks. No pressure, right:?”

       “:None at all, kidlet:,” she heard Jet’s voice joke through the link, but his tone, like Reggie’s, was strained.

       “:Detach further:,” Darkwind’s voice whispered into her distracted mind. “:Take yourself above it all so you can see what you’re doing:.”

      “I’m stepping out, guys,” Ryssa let the others know. With minimal effort, she took her spirit self out through the roof of the Chambly house and shot straight up into the sky. She looked down below at the silver line that connected her astral body to her physical one.

      It’s amazing, she thought to herself. I get dizzy looking down from the top of a stepladder when I’m in my physical body. But this is actually kind of cool.

      She turned her eyes toward the storm. Her breath caught in amazement at the beauty of it—and at its immense size. It was a wall. It was a solid wall of white, spinning slowly around a wide, open space in the center. Ryssa was mesmerized for a moment, watching the clouds circle around each other, non-stop. A surge of pressure pushed against Ryssa and she saw the storm inch forward.

       A second look showed Ryssa another wall a little to the south, pushing the storm away from that center of population and away from New Faery. But that pushed the storm’s path in a straight line for Reggie and Ryssa and all of the others below her, sitting in a house she was pretty certain wouldn’t stand up to the beating of those hurricane force winds.

        Annoyed, Ryssa looked at the wall she had created with the help of those below. It was so tiny in comparison to the storm—heck, it was even small in comparison to the one that she knew was created by the Storm Elders of New Faery. How was she going to fight against that?

       “:Why fight it:?” Darkwind asked into the turmoil of her mind. “:Why not blend with it and attack it from the inside:?”

      “:What:?” Ryssa asked incredulously. “:How am I supposed to do that:?”

      “:How are you supposed to do what:?” Reggie asked. “:Is everything okay:?”

      “:Yeah:,” Ryssa replied distractedly. “:Darkwind and I are trying to figure out what to do:.”

      “:Okay, if you’re sure…:” Reggie sent back hesitantly. Ryssa ignored him and focused on the Sprite.

      “:See the lines of power wrapped into the storm:?”

      Ryssa looked and saw lines of the same color as the magical wall––purple, blue and bits of green. She was puzzled.

      “:I hadn’t noticed those before:,” she said absently. Then a sudden thought struck her. “:Hey—this isn’t a natural storm—someone really is sending them to attack New Faery:.”

     “:It is a natural storm, but someone else has blended their magic with the storm to control it. Or rather, they have put their magic into the storm. They didn’t blend it properly or else the storm elders would have never had a chance:.”

      “:If they didn’t get it right, and they have a clue, how am I supposed to get it right:?”

      “:Just close your eyes and let the magic come to you—give yourself over to it:,” Darkwind instructed. “:You’ll know what to do:.”

      “:Uh, yeah, sure, okay:,” Ryssa rolled her eyes inwardly. “:That’s easy for you to say:.”

      But Ryssa quickly found how easy it was. She closed her eyes—or at least shut out the sight of the overwhelming task in front of her. Almost immediately, her senses heightened to the magic. She felt it all around her, the lines and the energy everywhere. In her state of awareness, the distinction between the separate magics lessened. There was no Air magic, no Water magic, no Earth magic, and no emotion. It was all pure magic, pulled from a seemingly single source.

       Ryssa let go completely and let the magic wrap around and through her. She let the essence of her spirit melt into the magic until she felt one with it—as though she were the magic. It was an incredible feeling of power and she reveled in it, merged with it and became one with it. Darkwind had been right. She knew what she needed to do.

       Taking all of the lines of magic—from the wall created by her group, from the wall created by the storm elders, from the storm, and from herself—she brought them together to encase the storm. Ryssa was reminded of Darkwind’s capture by her uncle Aurelius. The Sprite was inside and melded with a fireball sent to destroy her and her twin, which Aurelius then completely encased in a sphere of water that he shrunk down against the ball of fire until it imploded, releasing the Sprite for Aurelius to capture. She used the same concept now, putting the storm into a sphere of pure magic and starting to condense it down around the force of the hurricane.

      At the edge of her awareness she felt another magic, separate from the others. It probed at the sphere around the hurricane and Ryssa sensed the moment it touched her essence and mingled with the other magics. Ryssa opened her eyes, letting in the sights of everything that surrounded her, everything she was a part of.

       Two large eyes stared back at her with curiosity. Ryssa was reminded of the way Darkwind looked at her, curious, taking everything in. But these weren’t the wide, round eyes of a Sprite, these were more like the fathomless eyes of one of the Fey—of one of the Faery in particular. Ryssa blinked in surprise. Who is that?

      Then the look in the eyes changed. It went from open appraising curiosity to contempt. It was as though whoever it was had examined Ryssa and found her lacking. Ryssa could feel the heat of emotion—embarrassment—rise to her face just before a powerful surge pushed outward against the sphere, trying to break the power that held it back.

       The shock of the attempt didn’t last long for Ryssa. She clamped down on the magic sphere, tightening it, trying to force the storm inside to dwindle against the magic. The eyes that stared at her looked surprised at first and then calculating.

       Ryssa felt a slight shift in the magic—in the lines coming from the storm. They wrapped around her essence, trying to choke it off from her physical body. She felt suffocated, though her spirit didn’t actually breathe. And pain—the pain ripped through her and hummed across the magical net so intensely that a scream was torn from her—a scream that was echoed by the cries of the people still connected to her by the link of magic.

      “:Ryss:!” Reggie cried out to her through that link. “:Are you okay? Ryssa? Answer me:!”

       She thought about not answering and then changed her mind. Her anger built and she called out to her twin and the others through the link.

      “:I’m under attack:,” she said with deliberate coldness. “:If you guys can’t give me everything you’ve got—right now—then we’re done for:.”

      Ryssa immediately felt the surge of magic combined with love, protection and fear pour through her from the others below. No more questions. They gave it all to her without hesitation. Ryssa felt humbled by their complete trust. The look she turned toward the eyes now was cold and unfeeling, and yet the anger wrapping itself around the edges was the fuel to feed the magic.

      She took all of the magic around her and all of the magic sent to her and poured it into the sphere. Ryssa wasted no time in shrinking it down around the bulk of the storm. The eyes held a look of surprise and then fear. Ryssa could feel the other individual struggle, but it did no good. At the last instant, Ryssa slammed the size of the sphere to a pinpoint. The eyes widened, and then bulged, and then they just disappeared. Ryssa let go of the magic and her essence slammed back into her body, the recoil of letting go so quickly driving her away from the implosion of the storm.

      When she opened her eyes this time, her physical eyes, she was staring at the ceiling of the Chambly living room from a position of laying flat on her back. The others were huddled over her with looks of concern on their faces. Their lips were moving, but it took Ryssa a moment to realize that they were speaking. The ringing in her ears started to subside and she could hear her twin above the rest.

      “Ryss,” Reggie urged, “speak to me. Ryss?”
 
      “I’m okay,” she croaked and tried to smile. She blinked her eyes slowly to the look of relief that crossed their faces. “You should see the other guy.”

      “The storm is gone,” Jet said, and she saw Hammie nodding happily in agreement as he raised his head to look out the window. “It just—stopped. Who was—?”

      “Hey guys,” Terry’s voice broke in from the door to Debra Chambly’s bedroom.

      Everyone looked up. Ryssa tried moving into a sitting position and Reggie helped her. Her head throbbed and she thought she was going to be sick.

      “Mom wants you,” Terry mumbled. He looked down at first, uncomfortable. Then he raised his eyes and Ryssa could feel the main weight of his stare. “Hey—whatever you did—” he broke off, as though he didn’t know how to continue. “Anyways, good job.”

      Terry turned and went back into the bedroom. The group looked at each other, the many questions they had showing in their eyes and held on the tip of their tongues.

     “Well,” Jet sighed. “I guess we’ll talk later.”

     Ryssa closed her eyes and nodded.

     “Okay then,” he continued, getting up off the floor and helping Moira and Hammie to do the same. “We’ll get Hammie home. Call us.”

     “Yeah.” Reggie helped Ryssa to her feet. “If the phone lines are still up, we’ll do it as soon as we’re done.”

     “It won’t be done,” Ryssa whispered to her twin as the others left and they prepared to enter Debra Chambly’s bedroom. “So help us, Regg—this is only the beginning.”

• Lead In
• Introduction