Crestfall:
A Novel of Earth and Fire
Lily
St. John McKee
Genre:
young adult/paranormal
Publisher:
Posterity Press, Inc.
Date
of Publication: November 23, 2015
ISBN:
978-1-889274-50-8
Word
Count: 64,425
Cover
Artist: Robert L. Wiser
Book
Description:
Crestfall
is a dark fantasy with a heart of love—for the earth, its creatures
and plants, for people who strive, care, and face down fear.
Its
young heroine, Aria Andrews, interrupts her medieval history studies
to attend her sister’s funeral in a town on the rugged coast of
Newfoundland.
Her
estranged twin was murdered, and Aria becomes a suspect before
setting out to uncover the brutal truth with the help of her brother
Fynn, his girlfriend Sophie (a witch), and forthright Bennet
Halfnight, a handsome detective.
All
three Andrews siblings have possessed unworldly natural powers; Aria
uses hers to pursue an old antagonist and confront new ones:
shape-shifters and werewolves in this startling romantic novel of
beastly gore and human tenderness.
CHAPTER
1: STRANGER THINGS
Myths
are truths buried beneath layers of speculation and obscurity. There
are those who would disagree, but I have seen enough of the world
beneath the veneer of civilization to know better. Legends travel in
the same boat as myths. They only differ because they were once
thought to be real, but the validity of such things has been shrouded
by the passage of several generations.
These
thoughts circled in my mind as I waited to go through the long lines
at immigration and at the airport car rental. With a long drive
ahead, I stopped to stock up on the necessities – food, water, and
a couple of books on CD.
In
northeastern Canada, an island called Newfoundland breaches the
Arctic Circle. Newfoundland is a strange place. The Vikings found it,
but did not stay. The Irish, English, Portuguese, Spanish and the
French settled the wild land in the 18th and 19th centuries. It is a
rough land, full of crags and uneven edges. The climate weeds out
those who are unable to withstand colder weather. It takes a sturdy
constitution to survive in the vicious winters and cool summers. The
temperature rarely climbs above 70 degrees Fahrenheit. The water can
be an unreal shade of blue, such as one would never see north of the
tropics. The forests that line the coast are thick and green in the
summer. Coral formations sit just underwater in the coves bordered by
the jagged coast. Thousands of years of erosion are lined by
watermarks that delineate the different water levels. And this island
is where my siblings have decided to live.
I
still could not believe that she finally got me to come to
Newfoundland. After years of taunting me with her shenanigans, she
got herself killed. I was finally free of her. My identical twin and
I were as opposite as night and day. Though she and I were not always
like that. Something changed when we turned thirteen. She became
cruel and careless to herself and others. When we were young she was
my best friend. She was the kindest person you could ever meet. Then
she began to delight in crushing the hopes of those around her. She
would take their opportunities for herself. Sonata was an opportunist
from hell. She had the ability to ferret out my dreams, and would
systematically demolish them before my eyes.
The
worst part was that Mom and Dad were oblivious to her manipulations.
Only our brother, Fynn, knew the real Sonata. When I tried to get our
parents to see the lies she was spinning, I was punished. When I
turned eighteen, I left home and never looked back. The only reason I
stayed as long as I did was Fynn. My big brother was a godsend. But
when one of Sonata’s friends got her claws into him, I could no
longer trust him. So I hardly ever spoke to him in the intervening
years while I was studying abroad.
I
left to go to college on the opposite side of the ocean. I went to
Cambridge and graduated with honors. Afterwards, I decided to stay to
pursue a master’s. I was working on my master’s thesis, about the
Black Death of 1348-1350, when Fynn called with the news that Sonata
was dead. The service was being held in the Crestfall Church, in the
town she called home. With everything that she had done, she had no
right to be buried on hallowed ground.
Memories
of the past flitted through my mind as the miles sped by. Before I
knew it, I had entered the outskirts of Crestfall. I had never even
heard about this town until Fynn called me. We were raised on the
opposite side of Canada in Vancouver. Nevertheless, Crestfall was a
beautiful town. The houses were quirky and painted in a riot of
colors—one bubblegum pink and another the color of purple
hydrangeas. The town itself was close to the ocean, beside a large
bay with a rocky headland that made a sheltered anchorage for the
dories of solitary fishermen and the trawlers that coursed offshore
for the big cod and salmon. Sea gulls were everywhere and the
townsfolk were obsessed with puffins. Everywhere I looked stores had
“puffins” in their names. Also, on the docks were many boats
advertising whale watching tours and trips to see these comical
seabirds.
I
would have preferred that Sonata be cremated, so that she could never
come back. I never could tell with my twin, she might be having a big
joke on me, forcing me to come here for her funeral only to show up
and mock me. But it was not my call. It was Fynn’s, since our
parents’ death in a freak accident had made him our guardian of
sorts, even after we became adults.
My
car squealed to a stop in front of the church. I paused to straighten
my outfit: a black skirt that stopped just short of the knees,
knee-high stiletto boots, a black and white V-necked shirt, and a
black jean jacket. Finding nothing amiss, I walked up the steps and
into the church. This was going to be hard, but I was not
grief-stricken. I was sad that my sister was dead. After all, she was
my second half, but I only mourned the loss of my childhood half, my
womb-mate.
I
had not seen Fynn for seven years and it scared me to think about
seeing him so soon after Sonata’s death. I would have preferred
being invisible and I dreaded the thought of being the focus of every
irritated and stunned eye as I walked toward the pew designated for
family. But it could not be helped. I had been traveling for so long,
I could not remember what I was doing when I got Fynn’s call. I
waited until the last minute to book my flight. It was not as if I
wanted to come.
The
service was almost over—I hadn’t thought I was that late—and my
entrance caused a slight commotion as I interrupted the minister’s
eulogy.
Head
held high, I walked down the aisle searching for Fynn. I found him
seated in the front row. He looked stoic as always, but thinner than
I remembered. He must not be eating right. I made a mental note to
restock his fridge before I left and to create a list of things he
should continue to get. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a young
woman with black hair, with streaks of pink, purple, green, and blue
threaded through it. Her eyes were a strange amber color. I reached
Fynn and took a seat next to him. I could hear the whispers from
those who had come to mourn. I was unsure whether this had been a
good idea.
When
the minister did not resume his speech, but rather stood and stared
at me, I felt a twinge of unease and said, “apologies.”
“Would
you like to say something?” the minister asked.
I
thought for a moment and stood. I turned to the congregation and
said, “My mother once told me that if I didn’t have anything nice
to say, don’t say anything at all.” I nodded as if that was
final and sat back down.
The
young minister continued to stare at me.
Sighing,
I waited for him to regain the ability to speak.
“I
thought Mother told that to Sonata,” Fynn whispered to me. It
echoed in the now silent church.
“You
only thought it was Sonata,” I whispered back.
I
saw a muscle in his jaw tick and he nodded. Fynn had changed a bit
over the past seven years. He was still tall, but his lanky frame had
filled out. His grey eyes held a sadness that hadn’t been there
before. I could see the outlines of some of his bones and that scared
me. I always remembered him as being strong and healthy looking.
The
minister cleared his throat, jerking me out of my reverie. “Into
thy hands we commend thy servant Sonata, a sheep of thine own flock,
a lamb of thine own fold, a sinner of thine own redeeming. Amen.”
As
we walked out of the church to go stand by the gravesite at the far
side of the cemetery, Fynn took me aside.
“Aria,
it’s great to see you. I’ve missed you.” He looked sincere and
my gut twisted with guilt. I hadn’t talked to him since he told me
our parents had died in my freshman year of college.
“It’s
great to see you too, Fynn.” I struggled to think of something
else to say.
We
shared a rather awkward hug.
“I’m
glad that you could make it. I didn’t think you would come.”
“Thanks.
I almost didn’t. I am supposed to be working on my thesis.” I
would not lie and say I was glad to be here. I never wanted to be
anywhere within a fifty-mile radius of Sonata.
“All
the same, it’s great to see you.”
We
stood awkwardly until we realized that everyone was waiting for us. I
could feel their eyes on me and it was slightly unnerving.
*
I
drove to Fynn’s house after the burial. He lived on a rambling
estate, in a mansion with huge bay windows, set back from the road.
It was nothing like the house we grew up in. I realized that I did
not even know what Fynn did these days. Whatever it was, it paid
well.
The
door had been left open for mourners to come and go as they pleased.
I was awestruck by the extravagance as I entered his foyer. There was
crystal, gold and dark wood everywhere. The place looked slightly
less extravagant than Versailles. There were waiters carrying trays
of champagne and canapés. Seeing the champagne made me cringe.
I
found Fynn talking to a tall young man whose broad shoulders tapered
to a lean waist. He wore Ralph Lauren black trousers. From the back,
the man’s dark brown curls were slightly longer than the current
fashion. I immediately had the sense that he was powerful.
“I
know,” Fynn was saying as I neared. “We should have told you that
Sonata had an identical twin. But I didn’t expect her either. I
thought she wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow. It was awkward what she
said.”
For
a moment I froze. Lord. I probably wasn’t supposed to hear that. I
hesitated for just a second until my eyes narrowed,
“Fynn,”
I said. “Are you talking about me?”
Fynn
looked slightly abashed. “May…uh…er—”
“Yes,”
said the man beside Fynn. “We were talking of you.”
I
looked the stranger in the eye. His eyes were a strange mixture of
brown and grey. I believed he was expecting me to flinch, but I knew
better. To hide my shaking hands, I clasped them behind my back. I
wouldn’t be undone by him.
“Well,
I think it’s safe to assume that it was not good things that were
being said about me,” I said.
“No
indeed” the man said. “But there is an explanation.”
“Really?
I would be happy to hear it.”
“Actually,
I believe the explanation lies in your corner.” His eyes raked me
over from head to toe. My skin felt like it would like to crawl right
back to England.
“I
do not have to explain myself to a complete stranger, nor do I have
any wish to.” I would not defend my existence to this ass-hat.
“I
have a right to know why someone would be so crass as to come late to
my girlfriend’s funeral, and then refuse to speak.” The man
squared his shoulders, and then looked away.
I
wanted to laugh. “Why would you think I have anything, nice or
otherwise, to say about Sonata?”
“Because
you are an exact replica of her!”
The
laughter died in my throat. A replica? Was he serious? Who was this
guy?
Fynn,
who noted the high color in my cheeks, spoke up. “Aria, why don’t
I show you to your room?”
It
was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “I’m staying here?” I said it
slowly, trying to grasp the meaning of this. I had not been under the
same roof with Fynn in years and he assumed that I would stay with
him.
“Yes,
I think that would the wisest choice, don’t you?”
I
got his meaning instantly. He wanted me to stay so that we could
talk. Apparently there was more to Sonata’s death than I knew.
“Sure,
I would love to stay here.”
As
we walked up the stairs, the entire room froze. Everyone and
everything in it stopped moving. People stopped in midsentence, in
mid-action. Only I was still able to move. I had never experienced
this before—someone was freezing time around me! I let out a yelp
of surprise and fear. Acting on instinct I dropped to the stairs and
placed my hands over my head, expecting an attack that never came.
“Sonata
Andrews, back in the flesh.” A derisive voice sounded behind me.
I
jumped at the hostility, and turning slowly I beheld a young woman
about my age. She was tall and had a willowy build. Her long curly
black hair streaked with color hung to her waist in a riot. Her skin
was pale and her eyes were a brilliant amber. She was the woman I had
spotted in the church earlier.
“You
are incorrect,” I said. “I’m Aria. She was my twin.” My eyes
kept searching the room. Panic was settling in under the surface of
my skin. I tried to keep a cool mask on my face so as not to display
how totally weird this all felt—a place and its people frozen in
time.
“I
don’t believe you.”
“Believe
whatever makes you happy.” My voice had no trace of panic, thank
God.
“You
should,” her voice held a promise of some sort.
“I
should what?” I countered, feeling as if she was continuing a
conversation that she had started with someone else, perhaps Sonata.
The
woman stared at me, her eyes seeing things that only she could
comprehend. Most unsettling was the feeling that she was not
something I could understand. The ability to manipulate time was
foreign to me. I had not ever thought about its existence. That is
what most unnerved me.
“What
are you?” I asked.
“I’m
a witch,” she acknowledged. “What are you?”
“I
don’t know,” I said in all honesty. Mom and Dad never explained
to me how I was able to do the things that I can do. If they knew,
they never said. They kept that information to themselves.
The
woman appraised me. “You say that you are Aria Andrews?”
I
sighed, “Yes, that is what I said.”
“Sonata
knew what she was—a witch. She had figured it out a few years ago.”
“Bully
for her.”
“That
is not the answer I was expecting.”
“Too
bad.”
“How
come you have no idea but your sister knew?” She asked.
“Perhaps
because I have not spoken to her in years.”
“Why—”
“I
don’t know.” Exasperated, I wanted her to be gone. For her to
just disappear and let Fynn show me to my room.
Then
she broke the spell and everyone began talking once again. The sudden
noise nearly deafened me. I looked around as I saw that conversations
were continuing as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened. Stunned
I tried to catch up to what had just transpired. It was so unreal…
“You
okay, Aria?” Fynn asked.
“Yeah,”
I resumed walking up the stairs. “I think.” Still shaken, I was
unwilling to divulge what had just happened. The woman had melted
back into the crowd.
Fynn
nodded and I knew that we would talk about it. We entered one of the
suites. I was not surprised, given the grandeur of the rest of the
house, to see a walk-in closet, a full bath; there was a small
sitting area and a large four-poster bed. Soft colors were mixed with
bold accents. It was decorated exactly how I imagined a room of mine
would look like if I had the choice. There were pinks mixed with
browns and purples and random bold blues. It was beautiful.
Fynn
eyed me with a grin. “I thought you would like this.”
“Indeed,”
I told him. I wondered if he designed this room for me, but I was
afraid to ask.
“I
had this room made up for you when I built the place,” Fynn
confessed, answering my unasked question. “I wanted to make sure
that there would be a space for you if you ever wanted to…” He
trailed off and stared uncomfortably at the floor. He probably
thought I wouldn’t believe him.
“I’m
truly touched,” I said, and I meant it. “Wait, you built this?”
“I
bought the land, designed the house and hired a contractor to do the
actual building. And of course Sonata was furious when she found out
about the room. I tried to cover it up by saying it could be a guest
room, but she saw right through it. She tried to burn it.”
“I
am glad it survived.” I didn’t tell him I wasn’t staying long.
Not right now. I wanted to make sure everything was in order first.
“Look,
I wanted to apologize for the things you overheard. Archer is
just…well. I don’t really know how to describe him.”
“Was
he really in a relationship with Sonata?” The idea of her being
steady with anyone seemed laughable.
“Yes,
she was sweet and kind with him. The way she always was with men that
she wanted something from, or to anger their women.”
“Still
pulling the wool over their eyes?”
“Of
course. Herding sheep was her favorite pastime,” Fynn said with
obvious disgust. I thought of Sonata’s friend, Morgana, who had
turned him into the untrustworthy person I left behind.
“What
happened to Sonata?”
“I
honestly don’t know. The police have been pretty tight lipped about
it. I do know that her death was no accident…the police are
investigating it as a homicide. I think Sonata was murdered. I think
you’d better get ready to be questioned.”
About
the Author:
Lily
St. John McKee was born November 24, 1987, in Washington, D.C.
Finding refuge in books from childhood challenges, she graduated cum
laude from Ohio’s Muskingum University in 2011 and earned a
master’s degree at Bath Spa University in England. She traveled
widely—to Costa Rica, Iceland, Patagonia, Egypt, and Newfoundland,
the setting for her novel Crestfall, which she finished in the autumn
of 2014.
In
the winter Lily McKee fell ill and passed away on March 19, 2015.
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