Portal From Paradise

By Rachel Lavine

Can a young man in a yellowing, moth-eaten robe survive the shock of discovering that the fate of the world rests in the hands of a misanthropic 17-year-old? Will he properly inherit his new house on Oahu if his estranged aunt isn't entirely dead?

The most powerful wizard in the world has retired to Hawaii and taken the most dangerous magical artifact in existence with him.

Where black helicopters and mystery men in Hawaiian shirts meet the spirit realm, what incredibly inconvenient wonders await?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Burzell
• Release date: May 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370585960

Book preview

Portal From Paradise

By

Rachel Lavine and Chris Burzell

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2017 Rachel Lavine and Chris Burzell

Cover art by Chris Burzell

Edited by Chris Burzell

For J. K. Rowling for writing such great wizarding books

Chapter 1 - Curios

Once upon a time, a man with a young face stood in his grandfather's inherited faded green bathrobe - now rather more yellow than green - a pair of bunny slippers with one button eye missing on the left foot, and a pair of boxer shorts that had lost against a moth in some unsung battle leaving it riddled with small holes over his left buttock and right hip. His name was Jace and he stood in an alley holding an antique cup of steaming ginger tea with honey by its matching antique saucer, and with his other hand he flipped a smallish ring through the air absently and caught it again. His eyes looked down the length of the clear, clean alley. A few hundred feet away, a sidewalk bore many feet as the lives of the city passed his by.

He’d lived in the small house behind him all his life, a miraculous haven of privacy and relative quiet near the ever-thrumming pulse of a city that never truly slept, though it dozed often enough. As the buildings grew around it, so did the small house, though it did so much more slowly. It stood only two stories high. When his older brother was born, his parents decided to build a second bedroom. When his sister Emily joined the family, a small addition was made and his brother’s room became the children’s room.

By the time he was born, the block had almost entirely converted to apartments and the only way to expand was up. His parents began drafting a second floor, but soon after, his father lost his job and was forced to consider his options.

Times were good, and jobs were plentiful. The next day, his father became the manager at the apartment building next door in exchange for a monthly check and half rent on a room. He didn't need the room, but his job description required him to be there whenever someone was moving in or out, and he generally used the space as extra storage for the tools he brought to bear when tenants needed some light work done that didn't warrant bothering the actual repairmen that had a similar arrangement in the apartment across the hall from the manager's apartment.

The second floor of the small house was finished right around the time the kids started moving out. Almost as soon as his sister moved into the new room upstairs leaving him to claim her old space for his own, she was accepted into the University of Oregon 100 miles south and started living in the dorms there until she found an apartment. Soon after, his brother got a job doing some sort of computer work at some eco-friendly firm starting up in the bay area and struck out south for California.

As fate would have it, it was not long after the house was half emptied that distant relatives started dying of old age and leaving his parents to deal with all their old junk. Over the young man's last three years of high school, the house became a garage sale in the making. The entire first floor was stuffed to bursting with knickknacks, costume jewelry, journals from two world wars, musty love letters bundled with red string in tin boxes with intricate designs of the Tour de France and old castles, and boxes and boxes of unfathomable garbage mixed in with the occasional item of real value. It was in this sea of souvenirs that Jace learned much of where he came from while searching for anything retro he could put on or carry around to show the hipsters at his school how cool and disaffected by pop culture he was.

Chapter 2 - Ma's Basement

Thought lines pinched Nick's face together as he concentrated on fixing the chemical composition of his newest potion: the cure-all remedy for insomnia. If only the blasted thing worked.

Bloody hell! Why won't you just work? Nick growled, shooting a murderous look at the vial. He brusquely pushed raven locks out of his face noting the seconds as they ticked by on the electronic clock face. Important seconds, Nick mused, that could have been spent dead to the world.

With a defeated groan, Nick pushed the intercom button and bit out a whispered Margaret... A long pause, Margaret, I can't sleep. There was no response for several minutes and Nick was just about ready to push the button again when the door to the basement opened with a loud creak. A wafer-thin woman began daintily descending the staircase with a steaming cup in hand. Her long dark-silver curls were pulled into a bun at the base of her skull and there were smile lines leading to her cupid's arrow chin. Drink this my lad. She smiled sweetly and handed off the mug. Nick grasped the cup by its handle and stared at Margaret bemused. Warm milk? What am I, a cat? Should work better than this here disaster, Margaret chided, indicating the beaker full of clear liquid behind him in a teasing voice. Nick drank the milk in two consecutive gulps. Thanks mom he responded sarcastically but her expression stayed the same. You’re welcome my dearest all-powerful-wizard this time Nick groaned and made to hand the cup back. Margaret’s tiny hand found its way around the still-warm porcelain and reached out with her other to grip his shoulder with a comforting little shake. Now sleep.

As Margaret exited, Nick stood up and moved to put away the various items he'd procured for his failed sleep aid. Life had been this way for the last four years. Nick preferred solitude, but even hermitous wizards get lonely sometimes. Margaret helped with various tasks around the manor and occasionally broke up Nick's endless work with helpful reminders to do things like eat and sleep. The interruptions were welcome. The rest of the time they pursued their individual interests and enjoyed the unique satisfaction hermits can sometimes achieve by having a friendly companion that they do not have to actually talk to.

Forgoing his obligation to sleep, Nick approached a vault on the other side of the room from the stairs. The door and walls of the vault were covered with ancient motifs from various mythologies that promised protection from malevolent spirits, uninvited guests, and all manner of natural disaster. He coated his hand in a viscous magic and entered a code into the pad. It beeped and