He was a man angry at an accident which left him forever incapacitated.
She was a woman disfigured and empty.
Add one immense painting imbued with a magical ability, and the resulting enchantment changed more than just their lives.
It changed their world.
Excerpt - (rated PG)
Her feet splashed into the water at the lake’s edge. Quickly Johana did a little hop onto the embankment and pulled off her shoes to empty them. A glance over her shoulder at the reflection in the water told her exactly where she was. She had entered the painting where the forest met the lake, exactly what she had been facing on the other side. If she continued to follow the shoreline, she knew she would inevitably arrive at the castle depicted in the background.
Johana inhaled the fragrance of the woods. It was real. This was all real. All around her the sights and sounds and smells were exactly as she expected. Overhead the sun shone through the rustling leaves. The weather was warm, very spring-like. She could even hear birds chirping in the distance.
Bushes dragged against her pants legs. Small white flowers littered the ground along with dead leaves. Everywhere she looked the place breathed of reality. Whether it was an alternate world or some kind of time portal displacement was no longer important. What mattered now was that she was inside the painting, living within its boundaries as if she had traveled there via plane, car, or on foot, and not through a solid stone wall.
Something rustled to her left. Maybe caused by a creature like a deer or raccoon. It didn’t matter. For some strange reason Johana felt perfectly safe. Stranger still, she felt perfectly at home, as though she belonged there. As though she had finally come back to the land where she’d been born.
Following the curve in the lake kept the distant castle in view. In the painting the towering structure had sat slightly off-center, but now it filled her horizon like an immense crown of stone. The closer she approached it, the more breath-taking it became.
The artwork had also displayed a smaller stone building set apart from the castle and partially concealed by the forest. The lake looped near it. As Johana continued walking toward it, she could see jeweled glints of light coming from its windows. It was a church, she realized.
And the double doors stood wide open.
Stopping several yards away, she stared at the entrance. Despite the pleasant weather, she couldn’t remember if churches left their doors open in the middle of the day. Open where anyone, including animals, could enter, seeking something to eat or a place to nest.
"Doesn’t matter," she whispered to herself. "Open doors means someone’s inside. Either that, or Mr. Castle is pretty damn sure no one is going to be bothering the place."
She walked up to the church building and took the narrow stone steps up to the entrance. The interior was dark but not oppressive. As she slowly went inside an overwhelming sense of peacefulness filled her.
The altar was covered with a white banner sewn with golden threads. Pure ivory colored tapers stood on both ends. A basket of white lilies sat on the floor before it. The candles were unlit, but enough sunlight came through the multi-colored stained glass windows to throw artificial rainbows across the pews and aisle.
A man stood before the altar, his back to the doors. Johana stared at the tall figure dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved polo shirt. Long minutes passed as he remained in contemplation or prayer. Suddenly he turned to leave and gasped to see her standing mere yards away.
"Who the hell are you? How’d you get here?"
He was angry. Surprised and angry. Johana didn’t blame him in the least. His perfect paradise had been intruded upon and no longer belonged exclusively to him.
"My name’s Johana Reese, Mr. Castle."
Darkness suddenly seemed to descend outside. Clouds gathered to block the sunlight streaming in, and the building grew dimmer. However, Castle either didn’t notice the growing darkness, or he didn’t care.
"The reporter? You’re that reporter that’s been hounding me? What in hell are you doing here? Go back!"
"I can’t," she told him, glancing over her shoulder. Was that thunder?
"Why not? Just go back the same way you got in! Stick your hand through the wall and someone’ll drag you out. Now go!" His face was so flushed a vein stood out above his right eyebrow. The wind picked up outside, blowing leaves into the sanctuary.
"I can’t," Johana repeated. "I don’t think I could find the way out without help." It was the truth. She could find her way back to the approximate area where she entered the painting, but unless there was a clearly marked exit sign, there was no way she could find the exact place.
He frowned at her, but the anger on his face did little to mar the man’s dark good looks. Johana felt her breath catch in her throat. There had been no photos or pictures to prepare her for when she finally met the man. No way she would have known what Warren William Castle looked like before now.
The man was too damned good looking. And it frightened her more than his wrath or the storm brewing outside.
"How did you manage to get here in the first place?" he asked again, this time with a little more civility. But not by much.
"The same way you did...sort of. I walked through the painting."
"How?"
"How?" she echoed. "Well, I picked up one foot and set it down, then I picked up—"
Castle gave a little growl of irritation and advanced toward her. At the same time lightning crackled above them. "I don’t have time for any smartass answers. Come on. I’m taking you back."
He strode toward her on perfectly strong legs, not legs weakened by lack of use or infirmity. Johana stood her ground, undaunted by the figure quickly coming toward her. People had tried to intimidate her before. It wasn’t a tactic she wasn’t expecting.
"They’re worried about you, you know," she managed to say just as he reached for her. Too late she realized he was reaching for her left arm, her bad arm. She tried to jerk it away but she wasn’t fast enough. His large, warm hand clamped around her upper arm and started to jerk her around. Johana gave a shriek of pain as she grabbed his wrist and tried to pry it off. Her reaction made him freeze.
"What’s wrong?"
"What’s...wrong?" she gasped, bent over slightly as she waited for the hot agony in her withered muscles to stop lancing up her arm.
"Dammit, woman! Why do you insist on repeating every fucking thing I say?" he practically roared, reaching for her again. He said more, but the nearly-deafening boom of thunder drowned him out.
Johana flinched. Too late she realized his intent. Castle snagged her arm again but this time he also grabbed the material at her shoulder with his other hand and jerked downward, ripping the sleeve. Dumbfounded, he stared at her thin, almost skeletal arm. His hesitation gave her just enough time to come around with her other hand and land a full-fisted blow to the side of his face. Castle gave a grunt in surprise, released her arm, and staggered back a couple of steps.
"You hurt me, you son of a bitch!" Johana yelled at him. "Touch me again and I swear I’ll kick you in the nuts so hard, you’re gonna need that wheelchair over on this side!"
I am so not ready for Christmas. I just realized I don't have much time either. One good thing is the DH is off Friday and possibly all next week, so I can give him a few chores to do, which may help some. I'm counting on him to put stamps and labels on the Christmas cards, and do a few things around the house to straighten it out some. Unfortunately, I'm the organizer in the family, so I can't expect too much on the getting-the- house ready front. That's pathetic, since I'm not very organized. (g)
Anyway, I hope to get the house into decent shape before Christmas, when I do my annual meal for the family. There's also that Christmas list to get together. Time is ticking away.
What about you? Are you ready for Christmas? Or do you celebrate another Holiday? If so, are you ready?
One of the main reasons for writing "Cynthia's Attic" came from my failure - failure to appreciate my ancestors. Our family stories are probably no more or less interesting than most, and I went out of my way to avoid remembering most of them or asking questions about my grandparents lives.
For instance. Did I bother to ask my grandfather what it was like playing in the first night football game in America?
Or did I try to find out just which relative "supposedly" sold a city block on Wilshire Boulevard in Los Angeles for $20,000? Guaranteed, I would not be sitting here writing a blog had that particular relative held on to the property.
Then there's the story, "Cynthia's Attic: Curse of the Bayou," of my great-great grandfather, Augustus Boilliat who disappeared in 1860 while taking a load of produce down the Mississippi River to New Orleans? Oh, sure I've read different accounts about what happened to him, but lost forever are the stories his grandson (my grandfather) could've told me about facts he'd heard from my great-great grandmother, Marie Julia, about her husband's disappearance.
I remember a few accounts told by my dad about his adventures as a teenage cave guide at one of the largest caves in the Southern Indiana area, Wyandotte, but I only have to guess at some of the adventures he must've had.
That's why I'm writing adventures I wanted my ancestors to have; adventures I can enjoy with them through the eyes and voice of my character, Gus.
The idea for Cynthia's Attic: The Magician's Castle came from detailed genealogy research done by my cousin, Betty. Long before the Internet, she traveled to Switzerland to search for documents that would tie our great-grandmother, Harriet Kistler, to Peter Kistler the First, President of the Republic of Bern, 1470-1480. I've tried to honor the Kistler family in the fourth adventure in Cynthia's Attic.
Thanks, Morgan, for having me as a guest!
Mary Cunningham
Mary Cunningham is the author of the award-winning 'Tween fantasy/mystery series, Cynthia’s Attic. She is proud to announce the release of book four, "The Magician's Castle," Dec 1, 2009. Her children's mystery series was inspired by a recurring dream about a mysterious attic. After realizing that the dream took place in the home of her childhood friend, Cynthia, the dreams stopped and the writing began.
She is also co-writer of the humor-filled, women's lifestyle book, "Women Only Over Fifty (WOOF)," along with published stories, "Ghost Light" and "Christmas Daisy," A Cynthia's Attic short story.
To celebrate the release of "The Magician's Castle," (Quake/Echelon Press, DEC 1, 2009), a winner will be chosen on each blog stop to receive a copy of the "Cynthia's Attic" short story, "Christmas With Daisy!" So, be sure to make a comment!
Monday, I'm over at my group blog, http://makeminemystery.blogspot.com/, where I'm blogging about the mystery of the missing checks. Come on over and find out what it's all about.
I'm firming up some dates for speaking engagements in 2010. One's tentatively set for March 28, at 1:30 at the Niles Public Library, another probably in mid May at the Schaumburg Township District Library.
Also, coming up is a radio interview at WJJQ again on May 7, at 9:35 a.m. before my booksigning May 8 at Cover to Cover Books in Tomahawk, WI.
I've heard that some people are more afraid of public speaking than of dying. Surprisingly, I find it easier each time I do it. As long as I have my cheat sheet with me to glance down at once in a while for security and I like what I'm talking about, I'm okay.
What about you? Do you like to talk or would you rather not?
Once, Connor believed that his ability to see the future would grant him everything. Instead, it landed him in a prison of his own making. Connor gains wealth and prestige, but with every vision, his own sight dims. Moira curses herself for failing…
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