Kate George

Glimmer Girls Chapter one Copyright Kate George 2011 At twenty-four, tired of talk show hosts and gawking audiences, Clara DeLamare did what many self-respecting women did when faced with untenable situation. She left town. Which pissed her mother off to no end, but then what didn’t? “You’re ruining my life!” Phyllis ran toward her down the platform shedding scarfs and attracting attention. “You’ll be fine, mother, you really will.” Considering the settlement she’d wrangled when Clara was born, she’d be more than good. But try telling that to her wailing stage mother. Clara handed off her bicycle to the conductor, threw her backpack over her shoulder and pulled herself onto the passenger car. Camera’s flashed, the train started moving, and Phyllis collapsed on the cement. Clara ducked into a seat and pretended to have nothing to do with the performance at the station. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen that show. Unfortunately the facing seat wasn’t empty and a quick glance up the car as the train lurched into motion told her she wouldn’t be sitting alone on this train ride however much she didn’t want to make small talk. She pulled a book from her carry on to use as a shield while she sussed things out. Sitting across from her was the most lacquered woman Clara’d ever seen. Her eyes fixed on Clara, a frown forming between her brows. She’s trying to remember where she’s seen me. Sorting back through her memories until, wait for it… bingo, she’s remembered. “You’re Clara Delamare, aren’t you? Was that your mother making a scene at the station?” The blonde’s tone was casual but tightly controlled. “I’m afraid so. Which part did you like the most, the theatrical collapse at the edge of the platform or her hand reaching pleadingly after the departing train?” Clara raised an eyebrow and feigned mild interest. “Please excuse my rudeness, I wasn’t thinking. My name is Hyacinth Horne.” She reached over the table to offer Clara her hand. Hyacinth shook the very tips of her fingers, which made Clara feel vaguely uneasy. Liked she smelled bad or something. “Your Mother seemed very upset.” Hyacinth smiled with what some people would take to be warm interest but Clara thought not. “She leans toward hysterics when she’s trying to get what she wants. And she likes attention so the more public the venue the better,” Clara said, trying to calculate how much information she’d have to give this woman before she’d leave her alone. “I’m sorry if she distressed you.” “Oh, I’m not distressed. But I assume your mother is. She didn’t get what she wanted this time, did she?” The blonde’s eyebrows lifted. “She’s at the station and you’re here on the train.” Clara shrugged and closed her eyes, letting the rocking of the train lull her, hoping Hyacinth would take the hint. She didn’t. “Where are you headed? Up the coast to New Portsmith?” Hyacinth asked. Clara opened her eyes to see the blue lasers were still trained on her. “Not nearly that far. I’m going to Mabble. It’s a little town not far up the coast. Do you know it?” It had been one of the selling points. “Oh my, I hope you’re not disappointed. There’s not much going on in Mabble. If you take the train another hour north you’ll get to Newport Harbor. You’d be much happier there.” The sugar in Hyacinth’s voice could have choked a cow. That’s interesting, she doesn’t want me in Mabble. “Oh, but it has to be Mabble,” Clara said. “A friend of mine recommended it.” That was at least partly true. “I’m sure it must have been a joke. You’ll be traveling back to the city before you know it, Mabble is much too sleepy for your liking.” Hyacinth’s voice had an unmistakable edge. “How old are you? Twenty two?” “Twenty four. Why?” Clara watched the older woman with suspicion. She’d met a lot of strange people but no one as set on influencing her as this. Except her mother. But her mother had never been as calm and razor sharp as this. “No reason.” Hyacinth waved the question away. “Could I ask you something? It’s personal. Rude of me, I know. Are your scales real? I always wondered if maybe The Mermaid Girl was a hoax.” “They’re real.” Clara pulled the soft neckline of her dress toward her shoulder revealing the line of delicate pearlescent scales cascading over her collarbone. Hyacinth leaned in, peering intently at the scales but when her hand moved to touch them Clara smoothed her neckline back into place. Clara had boundaries. “When you get tired of Mabble come and see me,” Hyacinth rummaged in her handbag and handed a card to Clara. “I’ve traveled extensively. I’m sure I can help you find a very suitable place to vacation.” “That’s very kind of you,” Clara said, to have plans for getting rid of me already. Clara turned away to look out the window. Hills and fields rolled by and once or twice there was a glimpse of the ocean. If she’d planned the tracks the train would run along the ocean. Not out here in the endless countryside. When the light faded and all she could see in the window was the reflection of wild copper curls and the glint of green from her irises before she closed her eyes and let the motion of the train lull her. When the conductor touched her shoulder and announced Mabble was the next stop Clara opened her eyes to see Hyacinth pretending not to watch her with an intensity that was uncomfortable. Whatever it was Hyacinth wanted, Clara was going to make good and sure she didn’t get it. In the luggage car Clara’s bicycle pedal was caught in the rack. She struggled to dislodge it, palms sweating because she was afraid that the train would pull away from the station before she was free. Then a pair of paint stained hands lifted the bike vertically, so she could pull the pedal free. “Thank you.” She looked to see a dark man dressed in a black suit and watching her. Her eyes dropped to his hands, caloused and stained with color and she frowned. “Better hurry,” he said. “Or you’ll end up in Portsmouth paying for a ticket back.” He placed the bike on the floor and she rolled it out, backpack over her arm. When she looked for him on the platform he was gone. The tiny station, hardly more than a platform really, stood on high above the little village of Mabble. Clara rolled her bike down the ramp from the platform toward the parking lot. The place was deserted except for the woman she’d seen on the train arguing with the well-dressed man who’d helped her with her bicycle. Unfortunately they were blocking the sidewalk. “I won’t have it John Henry,” the woman’s words were clipped. “You will keep your promise.” “I’m not living Aunt Betty’s cottage mother, so get used to it.” The man sounded resigned, and Clara thought she heard him sigh as she passed, stepping off the curb into the road to avoid knocking them over. “And I’m telling you that if you try and sell Cliff House there will be trouble,.” Hyacinth said. “What you really mean is that you’ll make trouble. I will not be blackmailed,” Her son replied anger rumbling in his chest. “Take me home, I will not stand here and argue in public like white trash.” Hyacinth turned and stalked toward the tiny parking lot, not checking to see if her son was following her. Only of course she had. Clara moved out of range, relieved to be out of earshot. She’d had plenty of disagreements with her own mother, she didn’t need memories of anyone else’s. She threw her leg over the bike and started down the hill away from the disagreeable Mrs. Horne. Clara’s bicycle bounced to a stop and she looked up to read the wooden sign above her. The Wander Inn. The sign was attached to a haphazardly built brick guesthouse that leaned alarmingly. Clara eyed the jumble of buildings lining the street down to the bay. In fact, more than half appeared to be teetering over the cobblestones. "It's amazing the whole town hasn't tumbled into the harbor like a stack of dominos." She said out loud. "It’s all tethered to the cliff with spider webs. That’s what my grandmother used to say." Clara jumped and scanned the wide porch for the source of the voice. A woman sat on a bench in the shadows. Clara pulled her bicycle out of the road and leaned it against the building. "Sorry," Clara said. "Things tend to come out of my mouth that shouldn't. It's a lovely town." "I like it. Do you need a room?" She stood and went to the door, the light from the hotel revealing a smiling woman in her early thirties, a brown skirt flowing around her ankles. Clara followed her through the door, dropping her backpack on the floor in front of a long wooden bar that served as the registration desk. Resting one boot on the brass foot rail, she leaned her elbows on the polished wood top. "No computer?" she asked, half expecting it to pop up out of the wooden counter like in a high tech movie. "No. I like to do things the old fashioned way. And even if I didn’t it wouldn’t matter, computers don’t work right for me.” "Wow." Archaic. The innkeeper smiled and stuck her hand over the counter. "I'm Robyn. Don't hesitate to ask if you need anything." "Clara." As Clara took Robyn's hand a burst of warmth and light filled her. “Holycrap! If you do that to everything you touch no wonder the computer won’t work for you.” "Sorry! You all right?" Robyn dropped her hand, looking at Clara with concern. But Clara recovered the moment Robyn removed her hand. "Yeah, Good. This is going to seem weird, but touch me again." Clara held out her arm. Robyn placed her hand on the bare skin of Clara’s arm and she was flooded with light. “That’s wild. You do that to everybody?” “Nope. A lot of people don’t notice.” “They’d have to be blind.” Robyn grinned. “You’d think so. What brings you to Mabble? Vacation? It can’t be a business trip.” She raised an eyebrow. “Why not a business trip?” Clara asked. “No businesses here. Unless you count fishing, restoring antique carousels or manufacturing horns.” “Yeah, that would be a problem, wouldn’t it?” Clara smiled. “No, I’m looking for a friend. The last letter she sent me was from here.” “That might be difficult. Houses here don’t go up for sale. They’ve been in the same families for generations, some of them. But you can stay in the hotel. We’ve had a few that have stayed here for years. Although, come to think of it, I heard that Henry doesn’t want to move into his Aunt Betty’s cottage. Maybe you could live there.” Clara saw an image in her mind of the man and woman the night before. “John Henry? I saw him arguing with his mother at the station. I’m not sure I’d want to do business with that family.” “Oh God. Don’t call him John Henry to his face. Only his mother calls him that. He hates it. Come this way.” She grabbed Clara’s backpack and headed for the stairs. Clara filed that tidbit away in her mind for future reference and followed Robyn. Robyn led Clara up five flights of stairs, and while Robyn was breathing normally when they reached the top, Clara was winded. Too much time sitting in green rooms, she thought, and tried not to gasp for air. Robyn led Clara down the landing, pushing open the door at the end. "You leave your rooms unlocked?" "No real reason to lock them." "Wow." Clara didn’t know if it was sheer stupidity or absolute ballsiness. Robyn flicked a switch and a thousand points of light lit the ceiling filling the room with warm light. She clicked on the bedside lamps and miniature galaxies illuminated their shades. Clara sat on the wooden four-poster, carved with wild roses and hung with whisper-light drapes, and sank into the mattress. Lovely. Robyn opened French doors and Clara followed her onto a balcony overlooking the harbor. The wrought iron railing was cold to the touch, but beautiful, twisted with paisley leaves and curling vines. It was sturdier than it looked, strong enough to keep her from falling onto the roof of the building below. Although, the roof is so close I wouldn't hurt myself if I did fall. Twinkle lights shone from around the railing. In fact lights twinkled from everywhere; the harbor, the pier, the rooftops and windows all around. "This town really has a thing for twinkle lights." "That’s because they don’t cost us anything.” Robyn walked back into the room, opened the door to the bath and flicked a switch. The lights reflected off Robyn’s honey colored hair. "If you need bright light there is a switch near the sink. You can have it as bright as you need. Just turn them off again when you're done. It helps us keep our costs down." “Okay.” "Let me know if you need anything,” she gestured toward the phone on a small table near the door. “Night." Robyn left and closed the door. But before Clara could take a breath it opened again. "Forgot your key." She handed Clara an old fashioned skeleton key. "Just because I don't lock the doors, doesn't mean you can't." Clara placed the key on the small table next to the door and moved back out onto the balcony. There was a slight breeze and she stood in the night feeling the cool air move around her. The town fell away below her, everything leading down to the bay where the ocean rolled and glittered. Why wait until tomorrow? Outside the smell of the ocean invited her down the hill toward the bay. The breeze flipped her hair into her face and she gathered the copper ringlets into her normal damage control, a knot at the base of her neck. The interior of the shops were dark, lights illuminating the signs and the displays in the picture windows. Main Sweet Temptation's window was full of confections, Burnt Toast was a diner, Rally's Rolls the baker. Ice cream, boutique shops, hairdresser. The pier at the bottom of the hill was deserted, the small shops and stalls that perched above the water were locked and shuttered, but apparently they didn't bother to turn off the twinkle lights because every store was festooned with them, inside and out. Twinkle lights were draped haphazardly across the wharf; spinning webs from the roofs of the concessions across to light poles whose conventional lights were dark. Clara's footsteps echoed as she walked down the wooden planks, drawn by the fairy-lit carousel radiating sparkles at the far end of the dock. Tinkling music floated on the air, which was confusing because it didn't look like anyone was around. The size of the ride was surprising. It spanned the width of the dock and towered two stories into the sky. Clara climbed the steps to the entrance, drawn by the beauty of the animals, surreal in the night, prancing in mid-air, vivid with color and larger than life amid the surrounding darkness. The music, drawn by the wind, sounded loud one moment, far away the next. Clara rested her elbows on the gate watching the golden tassels hanging from the wooden canopy twirl in the breeze. A white charger reared in front of Clara, its gold saddle shining and draped with flowers painted in rose and yellow. She leaned into the gate knowing she was too far away to touch the beast, but wanting to. "Would you like a ride?" Clara jumped and spun to see a scrawny, freckled faced boy standing at the bottom of the steps. "Oh!" Clara's hand went to her chest. "I didn't know anyone was out here. You startled me." "Did you want to ride the charger, miss?" he asked again. "But aren't you closed?" Clara looked up the deserted wharf. "It's my family's, miss. I can run it whenever I like." His face glowed with pride. "Is that why the music is still on? In case someone wants a ride?" "No." He shuffled his feet. "I'm out here on my own and I like the music to keep me company. But you can ride if you want." "You're sure you won't get in trouble?" "Yep." "Let's see if I have any money in my pocket." Clara rummaged in the pocket of her pants She had change in her jacket, but she'd come out without it. "It's free. To draw people down the pier." He climbed the stairs and unlocked the gate for her. "Well that explains what it's doing all the way down here then." Clara smiled and stepped up to the carousel. The charger dwarfed her. Clara ran her hand along the carvings in the saddle. "This is beautiful craftsmanship." The boy beamed. “My dah owns it. John Henry restored it for him. It’s the best anywhere.” “I’m sure it is,” Clara ran her hand along the smooth painted wood of the charger’s neck. "Do you need help getting up?" He was standing in the control booth, now, his head just visible above the control panel. He couldn't be more than what? Ten? Twelve? "No, I can get up." Clara grabbed the saddle. "I hope," she added under her breath. She lifted her foot into the stirrup and grabbed the edge of the saddle. She hopped a couple of times and hauled herself up into the saddle. "Not quite as hard as getting on a real horse," she called to the boy. "At least it doesn't start moving when you're halfway up!" The boy shot her the thumbs up and the ride shuddered forward. Clara was surprised when the horse started to rise in the air. For some reason she'd thought it was one of the stationary animals, it seemed too big to be hefted up and down by the mechanics of the carousel. When the carousel spun over the end of the pier Clara felt as if she was flying over the ocean. She let go of the pole and spread her arms wide, flying with the charger over dark waves reflecting stars and twinkle lights. When the charger slowed Clara dropped her arms and noticed the boy smiling at her. He must think I've lost my mind. The Charger had ended up high above the platform and she had some difficulty deciding how to get down. She would have liked to sit on the saddle sideways and push herself free of the animal and spring to the floor. But the pole was in the way and she didn't want to end up lying on her back. So she swung her left leg behind her, leaning forward over and slid down the charger on her stomach, just managing not to fall as her feet hit the platform. Clara walked to where the boy sat in his control booth wrapped in a grey sweatshirt, perched on a high stool with his hands at the controls. "What's your name?" "Morris." The boy smiled as he said it. A delighted smile, as if the sound of his name was the most beautiful thing in the world. "Same as my dad, only everyone calls him Cotton." "Nice to meet you, Morris. Will you be here if I come again tomorrow night?" "Most likely. I live on the carousel. I'm almost always here." "You live on the carousel? By yourself?" That seemed a little strange even for Mabble. "Well not always. Not yet. My mum's got a shop and we mostly live above that. I'm staying here tonight though, and when I'm old enough I'll live here. There's a room in the middle." Morris pointed to the center of the merry-go-round. "That's pretty amazing. Is all of Mabble as magical as your carousel?” “No, Miss. There are wonderful things in Mabble, but there are awful things too.” His lips thinned as he frowned. “What could possibly be wrong here? It’s all so beautiful.” Clara watched the water sparkle. “There’s the girl from the Manner House. Mum says she was born two years before me, but no one’s ever seen her. They say she’s still alive up there. A prisoner in her own home. I shouldn’t like to be kept all alone in a place. Not even a rich place like that.” “That’s some story, Morris,” Clara said. “Almost gives me the chills.” “It’s not a story Miss, it’s true. My mum said so.” “I’m sure it is. But you’ve got to stop calling me miss. My name is Clara.” She walked to the end of the pier and looked down. The reflection of the twinkle lights on the surface masked the deeper water, but she thought she saw movement. “What’s in the water? Seals? Look! There goes another one.” “It’s otters, Miss, uh, Clara. There’s a power generator down there. It attracts shellfish and the shellfish attract the otters.” “How lovely. I love otters. Wait. How can there be a power generator under water? How does that work?” Clara asked. “Me dah says it’s Mermaid technology, but Henry says it’s very simple. The tides rotate turbines which generate electricity. It runs the carousel and the little lights and the water runs through hoses back into the sea.” “That seems very forward thinking,” Clara said. “Clean power and more food for sea otters. I like it.” In the cool light of the carousel Morris’s freckles appeared to stand out on his face. She smiled.“Stay warm Morris, I’ll come again soon." Clara thought about Morris as she walked down the pier. Such an odd little boy, and yet he had such assurance. As she approached the street a tall figure emerged from the dark street along the bay. She halted, heart pounding, stifling the urge to run back the way she came, but it was only the man called John Henry from the train station. Walking off the argument with his mother, perhaps. Henry Horne walked along the bay with his collar up and his head down. He could feel the approaching storm. He looked up as he approached the pier and almost jumped at the sight of a woman walking toward him. Sparks burst off her in waves of gold and green but she didn't seem aware of it. He concentrated on controlling his reaction while her identity became clear to him. The green eyed woman he’d noticed at the train station that afternoon. What was she doing own here on the wharf so late in the evening? Not that it wasn't safe; Morris wouldn't be allowed to hang out down here if his mother thought it was anything but. Morris. I must do something about that boy. He nodded to her as he passed, annoyed that she so clearly attracted power to her. That the magic could elude some and not others frustrated him. Surely those born in Mabble had more right to it than this stranger. Ah Henry, the world doesn't work on your whims. His Aunt Betty used to say that to him. And as hard as he tried to bend life to his will, she had so far been proven right. Henry let the woman fade from his mind and focused on Morris. His footsteps sounded on the planks and echoed off the fish shop. He smelled rain, ocean, and wet wood, but that might have been the smell of the carousel, which was running again, the calliope music filling the night. "Morris!" Henry mounted the stairs to the operators' booth, but the boy wasn't there. "Damn! I'll hide that boy." He scanned the pier for a sign of Morris. Nothing. He reached in and pushed the off button. "Morris!" "I'm right here, John Henry." Henry looked up to see Morris astride the white charger. "What in the world are you doing up there? Did you think you could ride all night until someone came and turned it off for you?" Henry let the exasperation ring in his voice. "Your mother will kill me for this. She's been looking for you since dinner." "I can turn it off. I just hang onto to a pole and jump onto the platform near the booth. Really, it's okay." Morris slid off the charger and walked unsteadily over to Henry. "How long you been up there?" Henry nodded at the horse. "I only got on after that lady left. I've never seen her before. Do you think she'll ride again sometime?" "Haven't a clue. Help me shut this thing down, I'm walking you home." "But I'm spending the night. I've got my sleeping bag and everything." "Did you tell your mother you were planning to stay out here all night?" The wind whipped at Henry's hat. "I told her,” the boy paused and hung his head. “But I don't know for sure she heard me. She was in the shower." Morris's hair got caught in a gust and stood straight up on his head. "Storm's coming in, Morris. You'll get soaked if you stay out here. Come on. Grab your stuff. I don't want to be out here when it hits." Morris hurried along next to Henry rattling on about the day and how he wanted to live on the carousel all year round. Henry listened with half an ear while he thought about Morris and his mother. They turned up a narrow side street and the wind rushed up past them carrying sand and salt, pushing Henry and Morris along until they arrived at the fortune telling and curio shop that Morris's family owned. The door was locked and Henry knocked on the glass with his key fob while Morris yelled up at the second story windows. A moment later the door opened to a graying brunette in a nightdress with a shawl clutched around her. "Morris Turnkey! Don't you ever scare me like that." She turned to Henry and her voice softened. "Where did you find him, Mr. Horne? Was he on that wretched carousel? Damn his father to hell for leaving him in charge of that thing." "Easy Winnie, Morris is fine. And the carousel gives him something to think about besides his father." Henry touched Winnie's arm. "It's good for him to have responsibilities." "I know, but some days I wish you'd never restored it. There's nothing else in his head but wild stories about old merry-go-rounds. Now he's wanting to spend the night there. It's just too much." Winnie shook her head. "I wish his father would come home." "I'll talk to Morris." Henry laid a hand on her shoulder. "Cotton should be home before too long, don't you think? It's about time for them to be back." "Yes, it should be soon. But in my heart I worry he won't come home." "I can't imagine Cotton ever leaving you." Henry smiled. "If ever there was a man in love it's Cotton Turnkey." He turned to look out into the windy street. "I'll be heading home, with luck I'll get there before the rain starts." "Go quickly, it’s coming fast." Winnie closed the door as a gust of wind threatened to blow Henry over. He caught himself hoping the woman from the train had enough sense to get in out of the storm, strangers often didn’t realize the power Mabble storms carried in their winds.