Chapter One

The silence that followed.

Thalia

The old bell over the door tinkled, signalling the last customer of the day had finally left. Thalia flipped the open sign and breathed a deep sigh of relief. The bookshop returned to its peaceful state, now she was alone with her thoughts again. The echoes of old laughter and the long, careless days of her ignorance seemed to reverberate through the stillness. Reminding her of a different, more simple time. The star-shaped scar in the centre of her chest throbbed with a soft ache, but she hardly noticed it anymore. 

She paused, the soft, orange light of late afternoon painting eerie shadows across the shelves of neatly arranged books. The warmth of the day lingered, summer gasping its final breaths before the magic of autumn claimed the stage. For years, she had dreamed of owning a bookshop of her own, of being able to bury herself away with her beloved stories and books, hidden away from the world, safe and secure, away from the anger and violence of the city streets. 

But when her dream finally came to fruition, it was in the worst possible way. She would have given anything to be able to give the shop back, in exchange for the return of its true owner and her previous boss, Martin. But he had gone on the one journey none of us can take with any companions. He was never coming back. 

“Thalia? Is that you?” She saw him, then, in her mind’s eye. A ghost from her memory. Wandering into the shop from the back room, his glasses perched precariously atop his greying hair. “You’re on time! Wonders will never cease.”

“Oh hilarious. You obviously missed your calling as a comedian.” 

The echoes of their customary routine of bad jokes and how they would relax her, put her at ease, were now bittersweet. This place had always been a safe sanctuary for her, and Martin had been a big part of that. 

Now, she had to find a way to accept his absence, somehow. There was no point losing herself in desperate denials. It wouldn’t change anything. Over the past year she’d discovered many untapped gifts she’d never known she had, but even she wasn’t powerful enough to bring back the dead. 

She rushed through the closing up process as fast as she could, pushing away the melancholy thoughts. She had work to do now, and dwelling on things she couldn’t change wouldn’t make any difference and wouldn’t help. 

She flicked on the kettle in the back room – one more coffee to fuel the hours of study ahead. Since she’d returned to the city last year after her journey to stop an insane vampire Elder from destroying the planet with his kamikaze-apocalyptic plans (no, really), Thalia had tried to rebuild something of a normal life. To figure out her place in the world, after discovering everything she’d ever known was completely different from the truth. That the truth was in fact, more improbable than any fantasy. More unbelievable than any tale she’d ever read. Most inconceivably of all, she’d uncovered that the parents she’d never known had left her with mysterious and powerful gifts she had no idea how to manage, had only just begun to tap into. And a tantalising clue to the mysterious secrets of Thalia’s heritage that sparked an insatiable hunger to know more. 

The letter her mother had somehow found a way to get to Thalia from across time and whatever realm she resided in now, left her with more questions than ever. She knew, finally, after years of wondering and trying not to care, who her parents were, and that they had left her because they thought it was for the best. Or that’s what her mother claimed, anyway. But she didn’t say where they went, or whether Thalia should try to follow – whether she even could.

It was an infuriating puzzle. A tantalising glimpse of knowledge just out of reach. Every time Thalia tried to grasp onto something solid, some firm piece of evidence that would help her know where to go next, or what step to take to find the thread that would finally unspool and lead her to the truth, it slipped through her fingers. It was driving her crazy, not knowing.

So, she’d done the only thing she could think to do. She’d started to research. Old books, encyclopedias, public records, family trees, historical documents and even mythical legends. Any piece of information she could get her hands on that might point her in the right direction. She devoured every possible clue to her heritage and where she could look to uncover the truth – she needed to know.

A movement in the small, old mirror hanging on the back wall (mainly so she could make sure she didn’t look too dishevelled anytime customers entered the shop) caught her eye, flickering in her periphery. 

The glass was more than a little dusty, she had been so consumed with her research lately she’d gotten slack on the housekeeping. Then – there it was again. A flash, like a shadow moving across the pane – she craned her neck behind her to check, but nothing was there. The shop was empty except for her, which she already knew. The hairs on her arms bristled as a shiver darted through her. Her stomach lurched. 

Steeling her nerves, she moved closer to the mirror, the jumbled back room reflected back at her in the grimy glass. Her mug on the table, waiting to be refilled, papers scattered over the surface ready for her to resume her work. 

Then she felt it – a gentle whisper, so soft it was barely perceptible. She knew she’d already closed up the windows in the shop after the one night she’d forgotten, leaving them open too late. That unfortunate mistake had led to a heart-pounding stand-off between her, wielding the decrepit old broom which had happened to be the nearest makeshift weapon she could find, and an extremely confused, panicked bat. Since then, she’d been rigorous about making sure she shut the windows each evening as part of the shop’s closing up routine.

I must have forgotten to check. 

She whispered to no-one, turning to make her way around the small perimeter of the shop’s two rooms, hoping she wouldn’t have a repeat of that terrifying stand-off with an equally terrified winged beast. 

Every second that ticked by seemed to linger beyond its own territory, and though she breathed deep, telling herself she was just nervous from too much coffee and too little human interaction, her senses were singing with fear. 

The windows were shut, but the faint breath of wind came again, and this time, she thought she tasted the faintest hint of salt on her tongue. 

Just as she turned to make her way to the back room and resume her original plans, trying to convince herself it was only her overactive imagination, a strange warmth swept from her feet, up through her legs, and she began to feel distinctly wobbly. 

She gripped the doorframe that connected the main shop floor and the backroom, planning to shuffle slowly over to the nearest chair and take a seat to catch her breath, reasoning with herself that it was probably just the heat of the day finally catching up with her. But the sickly warmth wriggled its way further up her body, pulsating across her stomach and chest, fingers of creeping flame edging their way up her neck as the wooziness intensified. She took another slow breath, trying to keep herself calm. Then everything went dark.

*****

She opened her eyes, the salty breeze picking up into a frigid wind. Her fear intensified as she realised she was somehow no longer in the bookshop anymore. Her safe sanctuary was gone, replaced by the desolate, windswept beach now lying before her.

Before everything that had happened, she would have told herself it was just some kind of dream, or her imagination. But now – she wasn’t so sure.

She pushed herself up to standing, heart thumping painfully in her chest. The dull ache from her scar that had become a background annoyance, barely noticeable anymore, suddenly seared with a white hot agony. 

Terror gripped her insides. This didn’t make any sense. Far in the distance, a brewing storm advanced towards her at a breathtaking speed. A strangled cry of fear, carried on the wind now growing in intensity, shocked her, and it took her a minute to recognise the sound of her own frightened voice. 

She knew where she was, but not how or why she’d arrived there. This beach – she’d been here before. Over a year ago, when she’d had to face down her enemy and her greatest fears. She’d been victorious, finally, but now her every sense flooded with dread. 

Why am I back here? How can this be happening?

She didn’t bother to voice her questions out loud – there was no-one to hear them. She knew she had to turn around, to look at the place where she’d faced down the dangerous vampire Elder, but she was frozen, trapped in stillness by her horror as the wind grew stronger, more angry, all around. 

She bit down on her tongue, forcing herself to dig deep, to find even the smallest shred of courage within. As she forced herself to inch her head to the side, the windswept clifftop slowly came into view. The acrid taste of  fear swamped her mouth, and her scar scorched its burning fire over her heart. It was just as painful as the moment it had happened, as though the fight had been minutes ago, not months. 

She blinked away the tears of terror brimming in her eyes, and although the clifftop was empty, no sign of the Elder or any threat, her fear only dimmed almost imperceptibly. Her heart continued to race.

As the gathering storm on the horizon grew darker, closer, in her mind’s eye Thalia saw the nightmare that had haunted her for months coming to life. The storm spreading, sky cracking and tearing. Rending apart as the veil – the veil between all worlds – began to fail. 

No. No!  The panic flooded through Thalia, filling her with a sickish heat.

Thalia had learned that the veil kept them all – her and everyone she loved, everyone she knew – safe from catastrophe, separating all realms to keep them in balance. She knew now what she hadn’t known back then –  that their world could never survive, if the veil were to fall. And now, everything she and so many others had risked to protect the veil, would be for nothing. They couldn’t let this happen. 

The realisation dawned on her, on that frigid, windswept beach, numbing out every other feeling but cold, dark, dread. 

Somehow, some way, the apocalyptic danger they thought they’d prevented, that Martin had sacrificed his life to block before the damage became irreversible – it hadn’t been stopped. Their world, and all other realms – they were no longer safe. 

The veil was falling.

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