Spellweaver

SPELLWEAVER

Book One of the
Spellweaver Chronicles

CJ BRIDGEMAN

Spellweaver

(Book One of the
Spellweaver Chronicles)

Copyright: CJ
Bridgeman

Published: 21st October
2013

The right of CJ
Bridgeman to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted
by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No
part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval
system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written
permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in
any format.

1.

The classical music
playing over the sound system echoed in the ears of Felicity Lucas
as she followed her mother’s coffin into the church.

It seemed like she was
watching a film, observing someone else’s misery as a stranger, an
outsider. Even as she passed the faces of people she knew, people
she vaguely recognised and others she didn’t know at all, even as
she saw the sympathy pouring out of their eyes in waves, she still
felt detached from it all. She didn’t even feel sad, and that was
the saddest thing of all.

The service passed in
a blur. Felicity spent the entire time with her eyes focused ahead
of her, staring at nothing. She didn’t listen to much, but she was
aware of the minister talking for a little while, and then there
was some singing. She didn’t join in.

Afterwards, there was
a reception at the pub next door. Felicity sat alone at a table in
the corner. To begin with, people kept on coming up to her, saying
how sorry they were, encouraging her to ‘be strong’ and that at
least she still had her father. Someone even bought her a lemonade,
and then they settled for standing by the bar and flicking confused
glances and enquiring stares in her direction. She was a strange
girl, they said. She didn’t speak to anyone. Didn’t even cry when
he mother died. An odd one.

Eventually they
started to ignore her altogether and she faded into the background.
She was good at that.

After about an hour
and once the majority of the people had left, taking their well
wishes and opinions with them, Felicity’s father sat next to
her.

“Are you ready to go?”
he asked quietly.

Felicity didn’t
respond.

Her father nodded to
himself. “I put all your suitcases in the car. Everything you
couldn’t bring is still at your mother’s; I suppose the solicitors
will sort that out.” He looked at her for a moment, and then he
stood up and began to make his way to the door. It was clear that
Felicity was supposed to follow, so she did.

Her father’s car smelt
of dust and cigarettes. Felicity peered through the dirt smeared
windows at the passing scenery that was so different from home. Her
father made one or two attempts at conversation but it was clear
that he didn’t really know what to say or how to say it, so he
eventually gave up and drove on in silence.

Their destination was
a tall block of flats on a busy road lit by bright street lamps,
illuminating everything that you did and did not want to see. The
block itself was concrete and pebbledash, grey and miserable like
the funeral had been. Felicity followed her father up several
flights of steps until they reached what was to be her new
home.

It smelt of dust and
cigarettes. Her father gave her a brief tour of the place, which
consisted of an open plan lounge, dining room and kitchen, a
bathroom, one double bedroom and, finally, what was to be her
bedroom, which was small and boxlike. Although it was obvious that
some attempt had been made to tidy up, the flat was messy. The
furniture was old. The walls probably hadn’t been painted since the
block was first decorated and the olive green bathroom suite looked
like it had been installed in the seventies. As for Felicity’s new
room, it looked more like a prison than the personal, private haven
that every teenage girl’s bedroom should be. The bedsheets didn’t
match the pillow cases. The metal bed dipped in the middle. The
blinds over the window were stuck at an uneven angle.

Felicity’s father
placed her bags and suitcases on the floor and looked at her. After
a moment, Felicity walked slowly into the room, almost tripping
over a loose floorboard in her path, and sat down on the bed. It
creaked.

Silence followed. And
then: “I suppose you’ll want to be on your own, then.”

He left the room,
closing the door behind him.

A lorry passed by on
the busy road outside. It was a late afternoon in summer, but the
weather so far had not been kind and there was a chilly breeze
coming in through the window, which appeared to be stuck
open.

Ignoring the bags and
suitcases demanding her attention, Felicity lay back on the bed and
stared at the textured ceiling. A spider was busy making its home
in the corner, weaving the delicate web with precision and care.
The creature was lucky, Felicity thought, that it had the liberty
of choice when selecting a location to live, for that had certainly
been out of her control. But then, a great many things had been out
of her control recently. She had been unable to stop her mother
from dying, she couldn’t prevent the move to her father’s flat; she
hadn’t even managed to shed a single tear on the day of her
mother’s funeral. Things were changing.

What Felicity Lucas
didn’t realise was that from this day on, her life was going to
change in ways she could scarcely imagine.

2.

Felicity stared at her
reflection in the mirror, and her pale, unsmiling face stared back.
There had not been many smiles in the two weeks since she had moved
into her father’s flat; in fact, Felicity was hard pressed to think
of any at all. The state of her room had slightly improved since
she unpacked, but she had fairly little in terms of sentimental
items and the lack of wardrobe meant her clothes were on hangers on
the door, over the window and flung loosely on the furniture. She
did have a picture of her mother in a frame on her bedside desk,
but it had come from the funeral, not her home. Felicity didn’t
even know who had framed it.

There was a knock at
her bedroom door and then it was opened by her father. Felicity
looked at him in the mirror.

“It’s quarter past
eight,” he told her. “School starts in fifteen minutes.” When his
daughter didn’t respond, he beckoned her with a nod. “Come on. I’ll
drive you.”

The school was only a
ten minute walk away, but Felicity obediently picked up her satchel
and followed her father to the old car.

The journey was brief
and silent, but Felicity’s father had become used to that by now.
He had thought that the flat would become chaotic and noisy with a
teenager around, but somehow it felt quieter, even emptier. It was
not at all what he had expected. However, the girl had just lost
her mother, so maybe that was understandable. Maybe she would get
better once she got out of the flat and made some
friends.

Teenagers dressed in
the recognisable dark green blazer soon littered the streets,
indicating that they had reached the school. Like the rest of the
buildings in the neighbourhood, it was not a new construction, yet
it wasn’t old enough to have any character that would make it
charming or beautiful. The walls were dirty and the coloured panels
beneath the windows had faded over time. The metal sign by the
front gate was suffering from a severe case of rust, but Felicity
could just make out the words: Greenfields High School - In Our
Hands We Hold The Future.

She must have sat in
the passenger seat for some time, because her father mistook her
absent stare for nerves and said: “Don’t worry. It’ll be
fine.”

Felicity nodded.
“Thank you for driving me,” she said politely, and got out of the
car, almost immediately lost within the sea of students.

With a sigh, her
father drove away.

The interior of the
school building was quite dark, although the day was warm and
sunny. Felicity made her way to the reception desk, where there
stood an incredibly busy woman talking on the phone, gesturing at
students and filing paperwork, seemingly all at once. It was only
eight twenty-five but already she looked ready to go home. Felicity
stood patiently by the desk and waited for the woman to notice
her.

When she did, she
greeted her with a smile. “And what can I do for you, dear?” As
Felicity opened her mouth to answer, the woman’s attention was
suddenly diverted. “Callum Johnson! Get off that piano!”

Felicity turned to see
a boy of about fourteen or fifteen sitting on top of an old and
rather dilapidated grand piano in the reception area, laughing with
his friends. “But Miss, I’ve always wanted to learn piano!” he
joked. “Maybe you could teach me?”

The receptionist
seemed unimpressed, and placed her hands on her hips defiantly. “I
mean it, Callum!”

Still laughing, the
boy identified as Callum Johnson hopped down from the piano and
nudged his friends, who followed him away down the corridor. As he
passed Felicity, he winked.

“And don’t forget your
appointment with Mr Oakley this afternoon!” the woman shouted after
him, and then she turned back to Felicity. “I’m sorry dear,” she
said. “That boy will be the death of me, I swear! What was it you
wanted?”

“I’m new,” Felicity
replied, handing her a piece of paper. “Felicity Lucas.”

The woman peered at
the paper through her spectacles. “Ah yes, I remember,” she said.
“You’ve been placed in 10G. Let’s see if I can find someone to show
you - oh! Hollie!” She began calling and waving to a group of girls
who were chatting excitedly amongst themselves. At the mention of
her name, one of them skipped daintily over to the reception desk.
She was blonde and was carrying a handbag that looked far too small
to contain any exercise books or school equipment. Most of the
students seemed to wear their uniform somewhat inappropriately, but
Hollie was the absolute master of them all; whereas other girls
wore their skirts far too short and had their shirts untucked,
Hollie wore a tight fitting black pencil skirt and had rolled up
the sleeves of her blazer to about three quarters of their original
length. Her heels put about six extra inches on her height and she
wore the biggest pair of gold earrings that Felicity had ever seen.
Her hair had been styled on top of her head like a yellow
watermelon with various strands hanging at either side. Her
friends, who were standing in a huddle around her, were clearly
trying to imitate her style, some more successfully than others.
None of them did it quite as well as Hollie.

“Yes, Miss?” she said
as she arrived at the reception desk, flashing a perfect
smile.

“This
is Felicity. She’s new here and has been placed in your form group.
Could you take her there for me please?”

“Of course I can,
Miss!” the girl said happily, and turned to Felicity. “Welcome to
Greenfields! You’re lucky that you’ve been placed in the best tutor
group in, like, the universe. We win Sports Day every year, you
know.”

Felicity
stared.

“Oh don’t worry, I
know that Greenfields seems a little scary, especially when you’re
joining half way through, but you’ll get used to it. And having
Hollie Clarke as your guide is like, a total bonus. Just hang with
me and you’ll be fine. I’ll tell you everything you need to
know.”

Unaccustomed to this
kind of attention, Felicity squirmed uncomfortably. She preferred
to keep herself to herself, and this had always proved a success
since her peers at her previous school had barely noticed her. That
was how she liked it. But here she was, faced with a girl with an
astounding ability to talk and a clear reluctance to allow Felicity
to do anything on her own. She was like no one Felicity had ever
met.