The Witch’s Shadow, the 2nd in the Mind Traveller series, is available now from Amazon. To give you a flavour of Rosie’s adventures into Mind Space here is another extract from the opening chapter.
Extracts will continue every Wednesday and Saturday.
Extract from Chapter 1
“You know, you hear these things. I can only guess. You’re a Mind Traveller, you inherited your mother’s ability and time locket. The only way to find out is to do it … ’course, if you don’t want to save the world and find another segment from the White Dove of Peace.”
Rosie heard Elissa huff breath and imagined her angelic but wicked little smile. “The White Dove,” Rosie repeated, knowing it was yet another duty to fulfil, another quest left unfinished by her mother. “OK, but only for my mother. I have to know, I have to know if they escaped.”
“Before the last hurdle, when your mind and body are at full stretch, I want you to focus all thoughts on the cellar of Haston Manor. The darkness, cobwebs, spiders and grime. Don’t worry about light, I’ll provide that.”
“What about the key to my mother’s case? I don’t have it.”
“No problem, in the SAS you learn a few tricks.”
“You fit, Rosie?” one of her team mates called.
“Sure, just trying some inner meditation, it helps me focus.”
“Oh, I thought you were talking to yourself.”
“That too. I’m told mad people run faster.”
Amidst encouraging cheers Rosie trotted over the grass towards the start line, unsure of what she faced. Everyone was shouting, cheering. A corridor opened between supporters of the different houses, teachers, parents, families of day pupils. Rosie allowed the noise to pump her adrenaline and determination, trying to ignore the sadness that her own parents were never there. But then no one cheered from the grave; they were dead. Or were they? If her mother could transport herself from one place and time to another, then why not from a crashing aeroplane? Maybe she had not been an orphan for eight years, maybe. Only one way to find out.
“You sure this will work in front of all these people?” Rosie spoke in her thoughts and received Elissa’s reply in the same way, her angelic outline no longer visible.
“You’re going into a time vacuum. No one watching will realise you even left.”
“They will if I don’t come back.”
Crouched in the start position, Rosie listened to the babble of spectators die away. Head up she looked to the eight hurdles spread over three hundred metres. Muscles tensed, mind centred, she raised her hips. “I go on the last hurdle, OK?” she whispered. Then she saw him. A small, long coated figure with a domed hat pulled down to his eyebrows and over the tops of his ears.
“Creppin,” she yelled, the same instant a starting pistol cracked the air with a single shot. Tensed muscles sent Rosie leaping forwards amidst an explosive volume of cheering. Without time for fear, sounds became a blur of noise as her mind centred on the first jump which flashed beneath her. The fleeting contact of feet on track sped her ever onwards in a pounding of blood and breath through body and mind. Every thirty metres she lifted her legs to fly effortlessly over a hurdle.
Creppin, creppin. She could not shout, could not even think. Elissa’s warning had materialised. The dark side had arrived. And they wouldn’t do that unless they considered her a threat. Duty to the White Angels now became paramount. The countryside, other competitors, spectators and sounds all fused into a single tunnel of Mind Space as hurdle after hurdle passed beneath her. Central to her vision appeared the stone mass of Haston Manor, then the darkness of its cellars where her mother’s old school basket lay containing the time locket and diaries. All hovered as if held at the end of a tunnel above the final hurdle, the scene expanding larger and larger with each forward pace. She sensed the rhythmic pounding of her body slow to a single pulse. The moment she lifted her legs to leap the vision before her transformed into a kaleidoscope of spinning colours. No longer running she flew over clouds of rolling space dust. Before her, crackled lighting spread cobweb fingers and lit the approaching shape of Haston Manor, its Norman tower and Gothic chimneys stained with the wear of time.
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