The Book of Fire Trilogy Boxset

By David L Dawson

A children's fantasy adventure, for fans of Harry Potter and Percy Jackson!

The Book of Fire Trilogy, all in one boxset!

On a world where 99.9 per cent of the population have magic Cressida Widdershins often feels left out because she's about as magical as a turnip. But when a school trip presents her with a magic book she feels her time has come. Unfortunately dark forces are also after the book; shadow beings with vast powers and their assassin, a man who can turn people to stone. The phrase "be careful what you wish for" springs to mind...

This magical boxset contains the three books that make up the Book of Fire Trilogy (Fire, Shadow and Ice) as well as several exclusive new short stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Dawson
• Release date: May 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781498960847

Book preview

Introduction

Welcome to the Cressida Widdershins Volume 1 Boxset.  Inside you will find the three books that make up the Book of Fire trilogy (Fire, Shadow and Ice) as well as a ton of extras that are exclusive to this boxset.  Those extras include several short stories, including the very first story to feature Cressida.

I hope you enjoy reading these stories.  They were a work of love for me, and I would love to hear your input.  You can contact me at [e-mail], or go to my Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/cressidawiddershins

THE BOOK OF FIRE TRILOGY

BOOK 1

FIRE

Chapter 1 – Sea Tooth

Imagine a world ruled over by a single massive landmass.  Continental drift, earthquakes, and volcano eruptions may have tried to prize the great chunks apart, but they were held back by forces more powerful than Mother Nature herself—-magic forces.  Quite why the land was held together nobody was sure, only that it must have been a spell that no one person had ever attempted since for fear of the repercussions.  The people of the planet Earth lived on one gigantic continent, which they called Pangaea, and that was all that mattered; blissful ignorance.

Of course there were exceptions.  Four thousand years ago the many warring tribes of the Elven race had banded together to break off a huge portion of land and drag it far away from Pangaea.  They were evolving technologically and intellectually faster than the other races, and wanted to be as far away from their influence as possible.  It took a total of two million Elves to move the land, pushing and heaving with their combined magical powers, and the process was so exhausting three quarters of them died.  Yet they deemed the mass continental migration worth the price.  They were isolated now, with only themselves to worry about.

So the humans developed much like they did on other alternative Earths.  They built the pyramids, went through an industrial revolution and invented reality television.  What with being one nation they had one religion, that of the Sun Goddess Rafreya.  99 per-cent of the population were born with the ability to perform magic.  They were more commonly known as enchanters.  Televisions, microwaves and satellites were powered by magic, not by batteries and electricity.  Their most famous celebrities are the Elven royal family and a talentless magician who went on Magic Idol, and now is making millions from writing books about how wonderful he is. 

In a county roughly where England should be, there was a city called Magefield.  It was a city surrounded by green valleys, carpeted with gothic buildings, and smothered with dark storm clouds for most of the year.  Yet it was a hub for magic.  It had the most respected magic university in the whole of Pangaea and it was where the Emperor of the continent made his residence.  It was a city of culture and class.

I hate this town, Cressida Widdershins moaned.

Traffic jams are always common in the city center, said Mr. Widdershins.  You just have to get used to them.  Besides, it’s a lovely day!  Just smell that crisp fresh air!

She winded down the car window.  She sniffed up.  All she could smell was a faint trace of magically powered cars.  But even that had an aroma of its own, something unidentifiable but unmistakable.  Today she thought it was stronger than normal, maybe because of the large amount of traffic.  It was Snow Day, after all.

Snow Day was a holiday celebrated once a year at the height of winter to commemorate the day, fourteen thousand years ago, when the ice serpent, Frostma, froze the world.  Colossal glaciers of ice consumed half the planet, killing trees, plants, and many forms of life in the process.  Some things were made extinct forever; others used magic to save their lives.  In the end, Frostma could only be banished to another dimension; she was so powerful.  So they celebrated her defeat, ever mindful of what she’d wrought and could again.

Cressida was eleven years old, a normal magic-free human, or the misbegotten one per-cent as more cruel enchanters mockingly referred them to.  She had conspicuous white hair done up in a ponytail and silver eyes like small balls of mercury.  Today she had on her favorite blue skirt, the kind she wore only when she went to the temple of Rafreya on Snow Day.  She enjoyed Snow Day.  The temple was a hub of activity; children playing games; enchanters creating images of Frostma that writhed around in the sky; tables of food, including her favorite, iced blue buns; and songs.  She couldn’t sing.  Her singing voice was rusty and embarrassing but she joined in nevertheless because Snow Day was a day to rejoice in being alive; and she also got the day off from school.

Cressida would never describe herself as an academic.  She was an average student who didn’t really gel with any subject.  Her teachers would tell her that she could improve her grades if only she applied herself more, but the fact of the matter was that Cressida knew she wasn’t that smart.  Her mother was an applied magic teacher at her school and her father was an archaeologist who had written twenty books.  She was sure they were ashamed of her, but there was nothing she could do about it.  She found all of her school subjects difficult and extremely boring.  So this rare day off from school was something of a boon for her. 

I read in one of my archaeology journals that they have a dragalodon at the Blueoak Museum, said her father, Doctor Shanks Widdershins, the designated driver.  Ginger Widdershins was in the passenger seat, head hunched over a pile of papers.  Cressida was disappointed to see she was taking the time during the traffic jam to mark homework.

What’s a dragalodon? Cressida inquired.  She fiddled idly with the Sun symbol necklace she wore.  It was emblazoned with a stylish R.  It had been presented to her, like all the people of Pangaea, at her fifth birthday.  It represented her growth as a child and the love she had for the Goddess.

It’s a prehistoric dragon, he said.  It seems mighty interesting.  Be sure to look at it tomorrow.

Cressida was confused.  Why would I be going to the museum tomorrow?

Oh!  I must have forgotten to tell you!  He laughed, feeling absent minded.  Miss Weber called while you were getting dressed.  The school’s closed tomorrow because they’re doing repairs to the roof of the magic building.  Some tiles got blown off during last night’s hurricane.

What hurricane? she asked. 

You slept through it.

Cressida mused for a moment. This dragalodon did sound interesting.

I can’t wait, she said.

Her father grinned as gentle flakes of snow began to simmer from the sky.  He hoped this enthusiasm meant his daughter was finally interested in something.  He hated to see the way she just didn’t care about anything.  He knew she wasn’t a smart kid when it came to things like math or Pangaean, but he knew there was something out there she was good at.  Something that really made her think, I love this.  Maybe this dragalodon would lead to that something.

The next morning Cressida met her friend, Joe, in the school parking lot, which was buried in almost an inch of snow, to take them to the museum.  She was immensely excited.  This dragalodon was an unknown thing in her life, a mystery, so it was something she was looking forward to seeing.  A prehistoric sea dragon, she thought.  How thrilling!

She and Joe were best friends.  Unlike herself he could perform magic but wasn’t very good at it.  He had once turned his shaggy mop of curly brown hair into sludge, despite the fact he was actually reading about the history of magic in the dark ages at the time.  To say he was hopeless would be cruel, so Cressida teased him that he was hopeless as often as she could.  She didn’t mean it, of course; most of the time anyway.

Cressida rummaged in her backpack, finding the bag of jelly babes she’d hid there earlier.  She pulled the bag of sweets out and offered Joe one.  He loved jelly babes.  He’d made himself sick often enough gorging on them.  She had received a whole box full of them for Snow Day and had spent an hour last night sharing them all out into various bags, some to save for later, and some to eat now, some to give to Joe.  When the two of them set forth on an adventure, they would chew jelly babes as they trekked or waded or foraged.

Do you have any blackcurrant flavors? Joe asked.

Cressida looked through the packet.  They’ve all gone.

Joe sighed.  Oh.  I think there might be a spell to change the flavor of something.  I’m sure I can remember it.

He recited the spell to the best of his ability.  The jelly babe he had in his hands changed into a fly and exploded.

I did it right! Joe complained.

Cressida stifled a laugh.  Of course you did.

What do you know about this dragalodon? Joe asked.  He was eager to change the subject. 

My father was very enthusiastic about it, said Cressida. I think it might be exciting.  At least it’s another day off school.

Joe chewed a jelly babe thoughtfully.  I’m not sure whether I like museums enough to be excited.  They’re a bit boring.

They don’t have to be boring.

Joe agreed with her.  Cressida could conjure up excitement and adventure from the dullest of things.  He assumed today’s museum visit would be no exception.

The class filed through the tall, imposing museum doors with limited enthusiasm.  Cressida didn’t understand them.  They had a day off from school!  Why would that make them miserable?  Their teacher, Miss Weber, appeared genuinely hyper, almost tense.  Was taking a group of students out for the day that nerve-wracking? 

In spite of herself, Cressida was impressed.  The foyer of the museum reminded her of the Rafreya temple in the town center only on a much larger scale.  Engraved pillars of stone held up the ceiling, which appeared to stretch up into pure darkness, and all of the walls were hollowed out alcoves with exhibits inside.  The floors were made of marble, black and shiny, and displayed on a plinth in the entrance was a statue of Rafreya herself, resplendent in her flowing robes and hair that crept and twisted around her body.

Welcome to my museum! said Mr. Blueoak with fake enthusiasm.  He didn’t appear to enjoy welcoming them one bit.  Cressida had the very distinct feeling he’d much rather chuck them out and lock the doors.  Enjoy everything this place has to offer.  Hopefully you will all learn many wonderful things today.  If I can help you with anything feel free to ask!

He gave them a greasy look as if to say, Feel free to ask but I’ll just ignore you.  What with his shifty black eyes, pouting lips and pronounced Elf ears he gave them all quite the shivers.  Cressida knew a villain when she saw one, although that may have been down to his brown striped that looked like it’d just been unearthed in a Persian tomb.  She ignored him.  He wasn’t what she’d come to see. 

This place smells weird, Joe whispered in her ear.

I think it’s Mr. Blueoak, not the museum, she whispered back.  There’s just something very shifty about him.

Joe had already fixed his attention onto something else.  In a glass cabinet, just a short distance away, was the mummified remains of a canter-troll.  It had a piggy nose and was as small as a human toddler like all trolls but this one had horns; twisting, pointed horns.  It was quite possibly the ugliest thing Cressida had ever seen.

It looks like the school guard, said Joe, examining the small plaque under the exhibit.  It read ‘The Canter-troll is an extinct offshoot of the troll species.  A Canter-troll was the first to spot and record the progress of The Dragon Comet, which passes by our planet once every 11,000 years."

Oh yeah! she said.  Maybe they’re related.

The museum owner had been talking while they’d been ogling the canter-troll.  He appeared to be talking about forgetting there was a school trip today and it was a tad inconvenient but never mind.  The place did appear to be deserted apart from Cressida’s class, who were all now getting a tad agitated.  Mr. Blueoak appeared to enjoy telling them all how wonderful his museum was instead of showing it to them.

So then...any questions? Mr. Blueoak inquired.  He looked at his watch, which hung from a chain clipped onto a buttonhole.  It was made of wood and the hands were moved by a simple magic spell.  It looked expensive.

We’re really here to see the dragalodon, said Miss Weber candidly, giving the man her best annoyed teacher look.  It should be ever so fascinating.  I know my students and I are very looking forward to viewing it.

I knew there was something important I had to tell you!  I’m afraid the dragalodon exhibit is out of bounds today, Mr. Blueoak explained.  There was a...leak from a water pipe.  It will be open...maybe next week, probably never.

Joe sulked.  But we came to see the...

Next week, Mr. Blueoak interrupted before stalking off.  He peered at them from around a corner, his reflection caught on the glass of a display case, merging his image with that of some ancient old creature.  Cressida stuck her tongue out at him and he walked away.

Well then class it looks like we’ve been given the chance for a completely unobstructed tour of this museum! Miss Weber declared enthusiastically.  Perhaps we could sneak down into the basement where they keep the really interesting and fragile exhibits?

Emily Swine asked, What’s the point of putting all the good stuff in the basement?  Surely the point of a museum is to display things for people to actually see?

Norman Baal dropped a 12,000-year-old Spiked Dragon cup on the floor.  It shattered.

That’s why, said Miss Weber.  She gently pulled a red faced Norman away from his expensive accident, whispering in his ear, If anybody asks it was like that when we got here.

Miss Weber began leading the group, single file, towards an archway with the banner Magical Plankton.  Cressida guessed what that was all about; fancy magical holograms of the first forms of life as they squiggled about doing nothing much for about ten minutes while a voiceover told you how fascinating it all was.

This is going to be a long day, she moaned.

There you can see the fossils of a Neanderthal Elf, said Miss Weber, leading them past a pile of old bones in a glass display.  That was before they gained their use of earth magic and went on to form the great Elverica.  Of course the Elves would have you believe they were never as primitive as this but, the proof is right here for us to see!

Emily wrote down everything the teacher said on a small pink notebook in her hands.  She stared at the Neanderthal Elf as if it was the most mesmerizing thing she had ever seen.  Emily thought it was.  She hoped to become an Elf surgeon when she was older.  She even had an exiled Elf doctor as an occasional tutor.  She knew what she wanted and she would get it.  It’s a pity I have to be in the same class as those idiotic morons, Emily thought, glancing at Cressida and Joe.  Quite how they survive with half a brain cell between them I have no idea.

Cressida envied Emily; she had ambitions.  Cressida didn’t know what she wanted to be.  Did she want to be a teacher like her mother, an archaeologist like her father, or maybe something completely different?  I’m not even good at anything, she thought.  I can’t do magic.  I’m not athletic.  I can’t even spell athletic.

Elves have slightly larger brains than humans, Emily suddenly blurted out.  They use this extra part to perform magic, which is why their magical powers are more advanced than ours.

How fascinating, said Cressida. I always wanted to know that.

Emily looked at her crossly.  There’s no need to be sarcastic.

What’s so interesting back here? Joe asked, trying to peek at Emily’s notes.  She hid them in her pocket and scurried on to catch up with the rest of the class.

Nothing, said Cressida.  We were just having a nice chat.

You could at least pretend to be interested, snapped Emily.  We’ve been granted quite a rare privilege here.

Hmm, said Cressida.

They continued along a lengthy stretch of corridor in the museum.  She wasn’t really that interested.  There were examples of early Elf pottery; a diorama of Cleopatra’s war with the Moon Giants; the corpse of Napoleon, preserved forever in amber.  Every moment in the history of her world was preserved and documented.  Cressida had a feeling she should find the whole building creepy.  With all the dead bodies stuffed, mummified, and frozen in magical spells, this place was more like a mausoleum than a museum.

Time for lunch! Miss Weber declared, taking out a flask of tea.  Follow me to the canteen, children!  I do hope you’ve all brought something to eat.  I don’t think there is actually any staff here today.

The class obediently followed their teacher; all except Cressida and Joe that is.  She wanted to see the dragalodon right now, no matter whether the exhibit was out of bounds.  So she hid behind a massive ice sculpture of a Moon Giant, held in its frozen state by a spell.  She waited for the class to walk out of sight, her breath coming out in mist she was so close to the ice.

This disobedience of yours always gets us into trouble, muttered Joe.  I knew this was going to happen, he thought.

You want a quiet life? she said, pulling her long-suffering friend after her.

The two of them dodged a doddery old cleaner with wild greasy red hair as they crept along corridor after corridor.  The museum was a maze, designed to keep you trapped inside its twisting lanes until you’d seen every last thing the place had to offer.  Joe started to become confused, his mind telling him they’d been away for too long and would get into trouble.  He didn’t want to get into trouble, not with his grades so low.

Cressida was prepared.  She knew the exact way to the dragalodon exhibit; she had downloaded a plan of the museum off the ether-web the night before.  She had memorized every twist and turn in the corridors.

They came to a corridor with a low ceiling.  Lining the sides of the huge archway were two marble pillars, looking like they’d been stripped straight from a Greek temple.  Cressida knocked on one of them; it was hollow.  They were made of plastic.

This is it, said Cressida, grinning.  Hung across the doorway was a long strip of yellow tape that said, Police line – illegal crossing may result in a curse.  She and Joe snuck under it and emerged the other side sans-curse. 

How do we know if we’re cursed or not? Joe wondered.

Can you feel your arms and legs falling off? she asked him.

No, he answered.  But what if it’s a time delayed curse and...

Cressida put her hand over Joe’s mouth to shut him up.  Not because she was sick of him wittering on, which she was, but because she thought she’d heard talking coming from further ahead in the corridor.  How unfortunate would it be if the work that Mr. Blueoak had been going on about was in the exact same place where they wanted to go?

I think we better go, she whispered.

She removed her hand just as Joe said, Why?

I thought I heard talking, she said.  I...

This time Joe’s hand shot out to cover her mouth.  He did it a tad too hard, almost knocking her onto the floor.  She thought she felt a tooth come lose but ignored it.  They could both hear something now.

The eclipse is beginning, they heard a voice saying.  The museum may have a class in but if I don’t do this now then I’ll have to wait another fifty years.  If they dare to disturb me then I will deal with it.

I didn’t know there was an eclipse today, Cressida thought.  I bet that’s something to see!

They waited for a minute until they were sure that whoever had been babbling on about eclipses had gone.  Cressida didn’t want to be caught out by the museum’s owner.  She’d never live the embarrassment down.

They reached a sign by a huge door on the left that said Dragalodon Exhibit.  In writing underneath the sign it read: The dragalodon was a giant prehistoric sea dragon that probably lived about 3 million years ago.  It is considered to be the largest predatory sea creature to have ever lived.  (It is, however, eclipsed by the sheer size of the Sea Wyrm).  Cressida felt elated, and was about to step inside the room when Joe pulled her back.  She turned to give him her cross look.

It’s Mr. Blueoak, he whispered.  Look!

They peered around the corner into the huge room.  Standing by the dragalodon bones, held together by a spell, was the museum’s owner.  He was wearing a silk black cloak now and he stood in a circle of burning candles.  In his hands was a huge leather bound book that he was reading from, chanting in a strange language that she recognized as ancient Elvish.  On his face were Elvish symbols painted on with what looked like blood.  A small knife covered in the same substance, discarded on the floor, proved her suspicion.  She felt quite sick and had to turn away.

What’s he doing? she whispered.

Whatever it is it’s not good, said Joe.

I’d say it was some sort of sacrifice but I don’t see a...well, a victim.

Cressida had seen through this man the very instant she had met him.  There had been something about him that just screamed out I’m a villain!  Though seeing him in the middle of some arcane act was something she had not prepared for.  They had to run and tell Miss Weber immediately.

Come on, we have to go, she whispered.

Joe couldn’t keep his eyes off the witch light that emanated from the candles.  It was eerie, mesmerizing.  He had never seen anything like it.  It reminded him of the fireworks on New Year’s Day and the strange energies emitted during a magic storm.  It was wonderful.  If only he could just reach out and touch it then maybe he could absorb those energies, keep them for himself, play with them, and augment his own pathetic magical abilities, then...

Cressida slapped him.  The magic is hypnotizing you.  Move it.

Joe shook his head.  What happened?

You gave me an excuse to slap you, she said.  We have to...

There was a flash of light, a clap of thunder.  Cressida and Joe were temporarily blinded.  When their vision came back, only a few seconds later, they both wished it hadn’t.  The dragalodon bones were glowing a bright sizzling orange, the color of the sun itself, like the bones were internally on fire.  Cressida gasped as flesh started to knit and form around the remains of the ancient creature.  As it slowly started to take shape before them Mr. Blueoak cackled evilly.

He’s bringing it back to life, said Cressida.  We have to stop him.

How do we do that? Joe asked.  We’re hardly commandoes.

She looked at the candles, glowing hotly, and the book in his hands.  Maybe they could run and snatch away the book, or try to kick over the candles and snuff out their flames.  Maybe if they could break the circle of candles, that would halt the spell.  She just didn’t know.  She didn’t have any magic in her, so she didn’t attend magic classes at school.

Joe didn’t know what to do either.  He was magically inclined, a junior enchanter.  Magic poured through his veins like blood.  Yet he found himself to be quite useless when it came to casting the most basic of spells, and he always day dreamed when the teacher, Cressida’s mother, droned on about the subject.  He had absolutely no idea what to do.

What if we just punch him? Cressida suggested.  She liked that idea, even though she was not a fighter.  Joe, however, didn’t think he was strong enough to punch a cat.

Mr. Blueoak placed his precious book inside a leather satchel on the floor.  The candles that encircled him blew out from a wind that wasn’t there.  He began to rub the blood off of his face with the sleeve of his shirt.  He did all of this quite calmly, as if the sight of a dead animal coming back to life wasn’t really all that interesting.

To Cressida and Joe, this was something they would tell their grandchildren. They watched as the finishing touches were done to the aged, putrid hide of the 65 feet long prehistoric sea creature.  Its eyes appeared, spiraling into existence as if from nowhere, and then it was finished.  The dragalodon blinked a few times, looking utterly confused.  It was probably wondering where it was and why it was floating in the air and not swimming in the sea. 

Prehistoric creatures have small brains, she could hear Emily telling her.  They were very stupid, primitive creatures. 

What shall I call you? Mr. Blueoak mused.  He still had a smidgen of blood smeared on his nose.  Hmm...

The creature stirred, turning two baleful eyes upon the Elf that had summoned it.  It blinked again, and Mr. Blueoak began to chew his fingernails in fright.  Cressida was afraid too.  She wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but she knew it was dangerous and that she was out of her depth.  But she was scared that Mr. Blueoak and the dragalodon might hear her if she tried to move.

I had a pet rock once called Lucifer, pondered Mr. Blueoak, his eyes staring down hard at the floor.  He dared not look at the creature.  He was sure if he looked it in the eye then it would knock him down dead.  He felt so stupid.  How was he supposed to use this creature if he was afraid of it?

I will call you Lucifer, then, said Mr. Blueoak.  It is a fitting name for a magnificent beast such as you.

The dragalodon laughed, and then said, I already have a name.

Mr. Blueoak looked up in shock.  He was obviously not expecting this.  The museum owner took a step back, knocking over some candles.  What’s going on? he asked, now more suspicious than terrified.  Dragalodons can’t talk...

The more advanced ones can, said the creature.

Advanced? Mr. Blueoak queried.  His hands were trembling.  All dragalodons were powerful enchanters, but the only one who could talk was...

The dragalodon giggled.  Mr. Blueoak now knew that he had made a terrible mistake.

I am The Great Var, feared and respected leader of the ancient dragalodon tribes, it said.  Its voice was regal, loud and booming.  It actually hurt Cressida’s ears.  And I thank you for bringing me back to life.  You will be rewarded with something I deem fit for you. Once again the world will belong to me!

But I want you to help me take over the world! Mr. Blueoak complained.  That’s why I brought you back in the first place!

An Elf cannot rule the world, Var mocked.  Oh how ridiculous!  Elves are far too weak and small to have the entire planet under their thumb.  Besides, the world belongs to me.  It did before and it will now.

Mr. Blueoak stood his ground, impressing Cressida.  The museum owner, shoulders raised, was facing this massive creature head on.  She could only shiver.

I raised you so that means that you belong to me, and you will do as I say! Mr. Blueoak ordered. 

The Great Var takes orders from no one, said the dragalodon. Especially not from a race as pathetic as the Elves.

Mr. Blueoak smirked.  I can make you obey me.  I have great and powerful magic inside me!

The dragalodon swam closer to the terrified elf, opened its huge, cavernous mouth and bit him in half.  Cressida and Joe gasped in horror as the creature chewed its meal, swallowed, then licked up the other half of the museum owner and ate that too.  Cressida wanted to be sick.

Hmm, tasty, said the Great Var.  I wonder if there are many more like him in the world.  I might eat them all!

Its eyes trained on Cressida and Joe, too scared to move as they continued to peer in. It spat out a piece of tattered clothing then burped.

Tiny humans, said the Great Var.  A bit stringy, but I am hungry.

Yes, very stringy, said Cressida, mentally telling her legs to move but unable to.  We’re not worth the effort of eating!

Why am I able to float like a bee? Var inquired.

The creature’s bewildered tone affected Cressida; she found her legs moving again.  She stepped backwards, very slowly.  Joe was doing the same.

It must be the Elf’s magic, said Var.  Oh well.  I might as well use this newfound gift before it wears off.  Humans!  Come here!

Run! screamed Cressida.

They ran, the high-pitched screeching of The Great Var rolling behind them like a battle cry.  Joe slipped on the polished tiled floor and fell to his knees.  Cressida turned back to help him up when the dragalodon smashed through the smaller doorway of the exhibit room into the larger corridor.  Brick and plaster showered the two of them as they came face to face, literally, with the ancient creature.  Its mouth was wide open, its eyes gleaming and its tongue was wet.  There was nowhere for them to go to escape its jaws.

What is going on? a creaking voice asked. 

The Great Var flipped around in the corridor, his tail leaving a huge gash in the wall, knocking over other exhibits that lined the corridor, including a case of medieval Elven weapons.  Its eyes were now fixed on the elderly caretaker they had seen earlier while sneaking about.  The poor man was only an inch away from the dragalodon now, his eyes watering in terror.  Cressida and Joe were temporarily forgotten, as a juicier meal had become available.

We have to help him, said Cressida.  Use a spell or something.

I can no more make spells work than my socks can, Joe snapped.

Cressida couldn’t just stand there, or run and hide, and leave this innocent man to get eaten.  Yet what could she do?  Something shiny caught her eye; one of the Elven weapons, fallen out of its case.  It was a long golden spear with Elven runes engraved in its sides.  It looked wickedly sharp.  A cracked plaque on the floor read The Elven Spear of Valor.

The Great Var swiped at the caretaker with its tongue.  The old man ducked and tried to run away back down the other end of the corridor but the dragalodon darted forward through the air like a giant bird of prey and lunged, mouth wide open to scoop up its dinner.  That was when, with a roar she thought sounded very impressive indeed, Cressida stabbed the spear in the dragalodon’s tail.  It let out an eardrum-bursting screech of pain; a scream so loud Cressida and Joe had to cover their ears and which caused hairline cracks to splinter up the sides of glass encased exhibits.

Where are you? the Great Var wailed. 

Cressida pulled the spear out and thrust it in again for good measure.  By now the dragalodon was starting to thrash madly, the spear still impaled in its tail, which was oozing a deep red blood.  The two of them managed to crawl away as The Great Var’s convulsions began tearing down the walls and ceiling.

A piece of ceiling plaster hit Joe on the head as they proceeded, on hands and knees, to the exit from the taped-up section of the museum.  He desperately shouted out but Cressida’s fatally dangerous curiosity had caused her to turn and watch as The Great Var tried to bite the spear and pull it out of its hide.  Cressida you’re an idiot, she thought.  Now that thing is going to bring down the whole museum on us! 

He was about to tell Cressida to get a move on when she gave a shriek of surprise.  She had been scooped up by the Great Var’s gray, sticky tongue!  He scrambled to his feet, ready to confront the creature.  He tried to think of all the spells he had learned at school but, maybe because of adrenaline or the simple fact he couldn’t memorize them, he hit a blank, and so his best friend was pulled rapidly towards the great gaping maw of the dragalodon.

Not so fast! screamed Miss Weber.  She was standing in the archway, the torn police tape flapping by the walls.  She blazed confidence and a fierce anger that made Joe shiver.  Was this really the rather prim, tea obsessed teacher who had once fainted after finding a spider on her chair?

The Great Var dropped Cressida, who landed on her backside with a rather painful jolt.  She clambered quickly to her feet, surveying the rather odd scene.  The Great Var was edging closer to herself, Joe and Miss Weber.  The creature was still floating a few inches off the floor like it was balanced on a cushion of air. Where the caretaker was she had no idea. 

Miss Weber, we have to run, pleaded Cressida.  Both she and Joe were slowly walking backwards to try and put as much distance between themselves and the dragalodon as possible.

I’m not just a teacher you know, Cressida, explained Miss Weber.  Her amber eyes were sparkling with powerful earth magic now.  We’ll leave the exposition until later...

The Great Var stopped and began to laugh, his snorts of laughter so loud it began to stir the already unstable walls and ceiling.  Cressida looked upwards, afraid she would be buried alive.  Yet she didn’t dare make a run for it.  This creature was quick.  Would he chase them until they couldn’t run anymore?

You are merely a woman, said Var, considering Miss Weber with a hungry curiosity.  Women cannot be a threat to me.

Cressida was insulted. 

Miss Weber smiled.  The sparkle in her eyes became more pronounced, dazzling even, and she started chanting a spell under her breath.  Cressida could tell it was in modern Elvish.  Yet, as far as she knew, only Elves could wield Elf magic.  Cressida was just about to ask what kind of person her teacher really was when a giant globe of pastel blue light exploded out of Miss Weber’s head and hit the dragalodon.  The prehistoric enchanter thrashed wildly as ice began to crystallize around its body.

I will return! the Great Var wailed as it froze completely, still floating in the air.

Miss Weber crossed her arms and gave Cressida and Joe a triumphant look.  Her eyes were back to normal and she didn’t appear to be one bit ruffled despite the fact the ceiling above the corridor over the frozen dragalodon was groaning ominously.  That was when the spell woven by Mr. Blueoak decided to fail, dropping the Great Var onto the ground.  He cracked in half like an egg.

Hmm, Miss Weber mused.  I had heard that he was more powerful than that.  He probably couldn’t access his magic out of the water.  What a shame he was so intent on taking over the world.  We could have learned a lot from him.

He tried to eat us! Cressida shouted.

I did gather that, yes.  She looked up at the ceiling, uttered an incantation under her breath, and watched as the ceiling tiles reformed.  The belching noises that were indicating a complete collapse were now gone.

That was awesome, said Joe.  You were...awesome!

Oh I was okay.  Miss Weber blushed, and then grinned.  If you work hard and study hard you can do almost anything.  Well, if you don’t carry the magic genes then you can’t do magic but you know what I mean.

Cressida didn’t know what to say.  Her teacher was a powerful enchanter.  She should be working for the government, not at a local elementary school.  Then it hit her...Miss Weber was working for the government.  Was it just a coincidence that her class had come to the museum for a visit on the very day Mr. Blueoak had resurrected The Great Var?

Are you a government enchanter spy? Cressida asked.

Don’t tell anyone, but yes, Miss Weber confirmed.  It’s a very worthwhile profession.  This country has a lot of enemies you know.

She’s my favorite teacher, Joe whispered excitedly, his eyes awestruck.  Cressida heartily agreed, even though she was a bit jealous.  Miss Weber had a glamorous job and she could perform quite spectacular feats of magic.  Cressida was good at nothing.  She couldn’t even be an enchanter spy as she had no magic genes. 

She looked once again at the frozen dragalodon, now in two pieces.  Already it had started to melt, but it was no use now.  The Great Var was dead and would never come back.  Mr. Blueoak had died, they’d nearly all died, and for what?  All because one stupid Elf had thought he could do magic from a stupid book.

The book; it was still in the dragalodon exhibit area.

The book; I can almost feel it in my hands...

The book; I have to have it...

She quickly pulled off her backpack and hid it behind a pillar while Miss Weber was telling Joe how if he had only actually listened in lessons he could be a powerful enchanter one day too.  He nodded enthusiastically, and Cressida had the strangest feeling that their teacher was actually getting through to him.

Can I fetch my backpack? asked Cressida.  I dropped it in the dragalodon exhibit.

Hurry up, said Miss Weber.  There’s a cleanup crew arriving any minute now, plus I’m sure the class is wondering why I’ve been in the toilet for so long!

They probably think you have the runs, said Joe, grinning.

So Joe can be an enchanter spy and I can’t, she thought bitterly.  The two of them were still chattering away as Cressida emerged from the exhibit area, the Elven book under her jumper, feeling its magical warmth soothing her skin.  She grinned, knowing that somehow this book would change her life.

Chapter 2 – Mutant Ivy

After the cleanup crew came, taking both halves of the defrosting Great Var with them, Cressida and Joe were forced to sign a document that stated, should they reveal anything of what happened, they could be imprisoned in a government facility in the frozen wastes.  At first Cressida thought it was a joke until she saw that Miss Weber, or whatever her real name was, wasn’t laughing.

Cressida showed Miss Weber her left arm.  Where the saliva from the Great Var’s tongue had touched her skin it had left burn marks, sort of like a bad suntan.  She could also feel it on her neck and her chin as well, and it itched abominably.

Miss Weber thought for a moment and then said, You fell in a patch of poison ivy outside the museum.

Good idea, said Cressida, even though she really wanted to tell her parents what happened.  Her father would love the story.  Still, she didn’t want to grow up in a prison where the toilet bowl had ice-cubes floating in it.  She could keep quiet, she knew she could. 

So...what next? Cressida asked.

I leave and you pretend like none of this ever happened, said Miss Weber.

How can we forget this ever happened? said Cressida.  It was the most exciting thing to happen to me in ages!

You were almost eaten alive by one of the most powerful creatures to have ever lived.  You’re lucky to even be here.  Go home and forget today.  Be a normal child with normal child problems.

A member of the cleanup crew, a tall handsome man with thick black hair and sideburns, approached Miss Weber.  He gave Cressida and Joe what were considered smiles for stupid children.  He was wearing gray overalls like the others and he had in his hands what appeared to be the Elven spear she’d stabbed the Great Var with.

This has the Great Var’s blood on it, he said.  I put a tiny spell on it and it revealed that there were some unknown magical properties still in the blood.  We could learn so much from the ancients that we don’t know about magic which could be used on the battlefield.

What battlefield, Cressida wondered.  Who are we at war with?

Miss Weber considered the golden spear that Agent Seth clasped in his hands.  The Great Var had reputedly been the most powerful magic user in history next to the Elementalites.  She liked to think she still had an interest in history, despite giving up her teaching post at the university to become an enchanter spy.  This could be very interesting, she thought.

Put a protective spell around it and bag it, she ordered.

Yes sir, said Agent Seth, grinning as he left, swinging the spear around rather dangerously.  I can’t wait to get a good look at this.  Just think of the damage it could do!

Cressida felt a bit annoyed that Miss Weber had forgot to mention that it was her who had stabbed the Great Var.  I should at least get some credit, she sulked. 

The government just love their weapons, Miss Weber muttered under her breath.  Cressida heard her and felt anxious.  Just what would her government, the good guys, do with the Elven Spear of Valor?

Won’t the Elven authorities mind you taking away one of their ancient artifacts? Joe pointed out.  The museum is actually part of their embassy.

If the Elves want it to be known that one of their number almost destroyed the world then they can make as much fuss as they like, snorted Miss Weber.  Her face suddenly deflated, realizing that the rest of the class was still in the lunch hall.  She’d left them there half an hour ago.  Goddess knows what mischief they were up to by now.

Emily Swine had a good laugh at her expense on the bus back to the meeting point.  How she wanted to stand up and shout out what had really happened, but after the fourth sharp glance from Miss Weber she decided to close her eyes and pretend none of it had ever happened, just as she’d been ordered.  But it had happened.  There was the Elven spell book in her backpack to prove it.  I wonder what’s in it, she thought.  I want to read it now!

You’ve gone quiet, said Joe.  Are you thinking about what happened today?

Emily Swine is getting on my nerves, she said.  She fingered her Rafreya pendant, thanking the Goddess for saving her. 

Just ignore her, said Joe.

Cressida said, furiously, Emily’s telling everyone I’m some clumsy idiot and I can’t even bite back!  It’s so frustrating.  Miss Weber saved the world from some undead supernatural creature and nobody will ever know about it.

We know what happened.

Rafreya would be proud of us for surviving, said Cressida.

I suppose, murmured Joe.

She patted the book in her bag as a mischievous smile overtook her face.  It was good to have a secret, even from her best friend.

Mr. Blueoak’s empty satchel was thrown angrily against the wall.  Several unused candles, a packet of tissues and a vial of liquid with the label cat’s blood fell out.  Someone cursed the Goddess, fouling the air with their profanities.  The book had gone.

A shadowy figure appeared in the center of the room.  It swept up to the previous character like the train of a dark bride and laid a hand on their shoulder.

Did you find it? the shadow asked.

It’s not here, said the angry one.  The government must have it.

The shadow hissed, sounding like steam escaping from a volcano.  Blueoak was arrogant if he thought he could actually control The Great Var.

At least he’s dead, said the angry one.

Yes, the shadow reflected.  We can now advance without his stupid independent actions threatening to destroy everything.  Still, we need the book. Find the book.

The angry one promised to find the book.  There was nothing they wouldn’t do.  There was no one they wouldn’t tear apart to find it and bring it back to where it belonged, with its masters.  And as one of its masters, the shadow, blended into the darkness and was gone, the angry one pondered on how to proceed.

Is anybody there? a voice called.

The angry one tensed and flowed across the tiled floor like quicksand.  It snuck past the caretaker, who was looking in on the dragalodon exhibit with a weary heart.  He had nearly been eaten alive today and the last thing he wanted was to be attacked by some burglar.  Lucky for him he couldn’t see the angry one, who clung to the ceiling above his head, its hands excreting a sticky substance to keep it in place.

I must be going crazy, said the caretaker.  He took a small glass bottle of whisky out from his pants pocket, took a hefty swig, and sat on a bench inside the dragalodon exhibit.  Oh I need this.  Now for a nice nap.

The angry one sighed as the caretaker curled up on the bench and fell into an instant sleep.  It could stay attached to the ceiling indefinitely if it wanted to, but it was in a hurry.  Its masters had no patience and it was in its best interests to be prompt.  To cast the detection spell that told it who had actually taken the book would cause some noise, which would undoubtedly waken the caretaker.  The angry one couldn’t kill the elderly.  It was wired inside its brain that a person of advancing years was something to treasure.  So it would have to wait until it was alone.  Then the identity of the book thief would be revealed.

Cressida wouldn’t stop scratching her skin.  Her mother, Ginger Widdershins, had cast a spell to lessen the inflammation but it wouldn’t work.  So she tried it again, and again, and once again just in case she’d done it wrong the first three times.  Ginger couldn’t understand it.  While she knew that she wasn’t the best magic user in the world, a spell as simple as this was second nature to her.

Maybe some herbal treatment would be the better option, said Ginger, admitting defeat at last.  So she lathered some foul smelling green ointment all over Cressida’s arm, neck and chin and instantly she felt relief.  The itching was gone!

Thanks, said Cressida.  The itching had started to become unbearable.  Miss Weber had said that most spells probably couldn’t cure the rash caused by the Great Var’s spit but of course she couldn’t tell her mother that.  For the half hour or so while her mother had been frantically casting spells to no effect, Cressida had felt faintly embarrassed. 

Maybe the concentration of all the magical artifacts inside the museum has somehow mutated the plant life that thrives around it, Ginger contemplated.  She swept her long blonde hair out of her face.  I’ll have to talk with the botany professor at the university about this.  It bears further study.

Sounds interesting, said Cressida guiltily.

Chapter 3 - Splash

Dinner that night was a dubious concoction made with turkey and rice, and dessert was a slice of leftover Snow Day cake with whipped cream on it.  But the delicious, yet dry Snow Day cake and her bad skin wasn’t on her mind as much as the book she had recovered from the museum.  She was aching to read it, but so far hadn’t had the chance what with fussing parents, confidentiality documents, and eating.  It was still in her backpack, resting on her bed, just waiting to be opened and read.

She knew she couldn’t read ancient Elvish.  She knew she couldn’t perform magic even if she could speak ancient Elvish. Yet something had drawn her to that book.  Did she want it as a memento of today’s adventure?  Maybe she didn’t want the government to get their hands on it?  She had no idea.  All she knew was she had it now and what happened next she couldn’t guess.

How was your museum trip? Shanks Widdershins asked.

It was boring, Cressida lied.

"Surely something interesting