Page 23 of Trip Me Up

8

NIALL

I pushedthrough the back door into my mother’s kitchen, dropping my snow-crusted boots on the mat next to her smaller pair. Thorin bounded past me, his wet paws skidding on the scratched wood floors until he gained purchase and slowed just short of smashing into the kitchen cabinets. He trotted to sit at Mom’s feet in front of the stove. The aroma of frying bacon and buttery biscuits welcomed us.

So did Mom’s smile when she turned. “Niall. Were you up early writing?”

I clenched my jaw. “Trying.” I shrugged out of my coat and hung it on the hook next to the back door. I set my mostly empty notebook on the counter and put the jug of fresh milk in the refrigerator.

“Don’t worry about it.” She slid my notebook out of range of the popping grease. “You just finished your book. You should enjoy your downtime before you have to go back out on tour.”

“Sure, Mom.” I kissed her cheek, lined and winter-rough. I’d turned inTreacherymonths ago. It was past time to have at least an outline for the third book,Battle of the Wood Elves.I’d jotted down a few ideas for it. Not one of them was good. Certainly not momentous enough for the possibly-final book of the series.

I’d thought coming home to the farm would inspire me. But my brain was as fallow as the snow-covered fields outside. Even the brook that ran next to my favorite writing spot was opaque and sluggish. I needed something else. A pair of violet eyes swooped through my imagination like a swallow. I’d see her again when the tour stopped in San Francisco. Surely my muse would spark my imagination then.

“Did you see your grandfather out there?”

I blinked away the image of those eyes and the strands of dark hair that had fallen over them when I’d seen her on campus last summer. “He’ll be in soon. He was having a talk with Sally about her milk production.”

“Dad and those goats.” Her face creased in a fond smile.

“It worked last time. He’s got some kind of goat magic.”

She turned off the stove and faced me. “That’s one of the things I love about you, Niall. You’ve always seen magic everywhere you look.”

Not these days. The shadows of the forest didn’t look like claws or swords or trolls. They looked like naked branches on dry, fallen leaves.

“Frank Turner came by a little while ago. He brought a package for you from the post office.” She nodded at the kitchen table.

“A package?” It was a small brown box, about the size of an unabridged dictionary. The return address was New York. Qiana, probably. I pulled out my pocketknife and cut through the tape.

A note lay on top in Qiana’s loopy handwriting. Below that was a stapled sheaf of papers. And at the bottom lay two books, one paperback and one hardcover. The hardcover, about twice as thick as the other, had the now-familiar, red-tinted cover illustration, my name, andTreachery of the Wood Elvesat the top. My first author copy. Warmth spread up from my center all the way to my fingertips as I caressed the embossed words.

“What is it?” Mom asked, setting down the plate of bacon.

“My author copy.” I picked up the book and handed it to her.

She held up her hands. “Let me wash up first. I don’t want to get grease on the cover.”

Moving to the sink, she ran the water. “What else did they send?”

“The schedule for the tour. And my tour partner’s book.” I lifted it from the box. The paperback’s cover was green. Not forest green likeSecretsbut a poisonous, acidic green. Like the tree python I’d seen at the Columbus Zoo on a long-ago field trip. The title,Magician in the Machine,stretched across a picture of something angular and technical-looking. The author’s name, in white at the bottom, was Sam Case. I turned it over. No author photo, just the descriptive blurb and publisher information. I scanned it.A fantastical techno-thriller?Did Heidi really think our audiences would cross over?

Mom returned to the table, wiping her hands. I passed her my book. That first crackle of the spine when she opened it made the warmth surge again inside me.My book.I’d done it again. My words filled the pages. Soon, people would read those words. Nervousness punched through the warmth, like bubbles in a pot of boiling water.

“It’s beautiful, Niall. I can’t wait to read it.” She took the other one from me. “This looks…interesting. Pretty different from yours.”

“Heidi said something about synergy. I guess we’ll have to read it to figure out what she meant.”

I picked up the schedule and scanned it. We were starting in Columbus, just as Qiana had said. I’d wanted to launch the book at the Enchanted Forest library like we’d done for my first novel, but Qiana said the venue wasn’t big enough. The library’s function room could hold twenty-five people. How many readers did she think would come to my launch? ForSecrets of the Wood Elves,there had been four: Mom, Grandpa, Gabi, and my high-school English teacher. Maybe she expected Sam Case to pull a bigger crowd with his debut novel.

I flipped the pages. Chicago, East Coast, Southwest, California. We didn’t hit San Francisco until the end of the tour. Bad luck, that. I’d have to wait for my hit of inspiration. If Samantha came at all. Had she been able to get out of her obligation? Would she be waiting for me at the bookstore in San Francisco?

Mom’s voice pulled me out of my reflection on the smattering of freckles below those enchanting eyes. “That’s some talk your grandfather is having with Sally. Would you mind going to check on him?”

“You know how ornery she is. She’s probably talking back.” I set the papers in the box and returned to the back door. No sign of Grandpa outside. I twisted my scarf around my neck, tugged on my coat, and shoved my feet into my cold boots. “Be back in a few.”

Closing the door tightly behind me to keep the warmth inside, I strode across the snowy fields, following my footprints back to the barn. Sliding open the door, I stepped inside and let my vision adjust from the too-bright outside to the darkness within.

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