Chase Tinker & The House of Magic

By Malia Ann
Haberman

Smashwords edition published at Smashwords
by Crossroad Press

© 2012 Malia Ann
Haberman

Copy-edited by:
Darren Pulsford

Cover Design By:
David Dodd

Cover images courtesy
of:

http://arrsistablestock.deviantart.com

http://mickeyrem.deviantart.com/

This eBook is licensed for your personal
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or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return
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for respecting the hard work of this author.

Malia
loves dancing, reading, writing,
playing video games on her iPod, watching TV, and chocolate. She
also has terrible motion sickness and hates onions. She's always
wanted to have the ability to teleport and the power to move things
with her mind. Then one night she dreamed she was living in a house
filled with magical rooms and the very next day she started
throwing ideas together for her Chase Tinker fantasy series, after
consulting with her kids, of course. She lives in the Seattle area
with her four wild and crazy ferrets. You can email her at
[email protected]
.
She'd love to hear from you.

I don't have a lot of acknowledgements, but I
really owe a huge debt of gratitude to my daughter Brandi for all
her time and hard work in reading and editing my thousands of,
sometimes crazy, words, and making everything make sense. There
aren't enough words in the world to say how awesome I think you
are.

I also have some special thank yous for my
daughter Shauna and my brother Tim for all their helpful advice and
encouragement. And, even though she's no longer here to see me
finally get published, I still want to send an extra-special thank
you to my mom for always believing in me, no matter what.

One more huge thank you goes to David Niall
Wilson and all the other people at Crossroad Press for helping me
get my books out into the world for people to read.

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thank you from the bottom of my heart

for all your awesome help.

I
t was a sinister
place, like something straight out of a nightmare. Cold as an icy
winter night; darkness and evil seemed to live in every stone,
crevice and corner of the centuries-old building. It was especially
so in the dungeon-like basement where water dribbled from cracked,
mossy walls and the rough stone floors were blanketed in scum. The
stench of rotten and moldy dead things hung in the air like a thick
haze.

In one of the tiny cells, a man huddled in a
corner and stared at several rats as they fought over a half-empty
bowl of rancid stew. Anyone who knew him would barely recognize him
as the handsome man he'd once been. His dark hair, which he'd kept
short and neat, was now shaggy and filthy; a scraggly beard hid the
lower half of his thin face. His clothes were torn and ragged, and
his skin was almost as grimy as the floor. Only the feverish
burning in his dark-brown, red-rimmed eyes showed he still hadn't
given up on life.

"Please, don't let them break me," he
murmured, ducking his head and running a hand over his hair.
Protecting his family and—well, that was the most important thing
on his mind. But it became harder as each day passed; especially on
the days his captors decided to visit. They spent hours asking
questions, playing mind games, torturing; determined to find out
everything he knew. Sometimes the pain was almost too much for him
to bear. He
had
to find a way to escape.

Several minutes later, the man heard scraping
footsteps echoing down the passageway. The rats slipped away into
the cracks in the walls.

"I can't believe our brilliant luck lately,
Roland!" said a man. "Things are goin' our way again. And I say
it's bloody well time."

The captive man's breath caught in his throat
as the other man's strongly accented words again reminded him that
he was locked up somewhere in England, a very long way from his
small, cozy apartment in New York City.

"I do hope Clive's correct," said a woman's
snobbish voice, "and we get what belongs to us at long last. I'm
sick to death of the waiting."

"We all are, Maven, but don't worry, it will
be worth it in the end," said Roland as they stopped outside the
cell. His voice was deep and raspy. "It won't be long until
everything is ours."

The man inside heard jingling and a click as
a key turned in the lock of the thick wooden door. It swung open,
the rusty hinges creaking. Flickering firelight from the torches in
the passage spilled into the room. A frosty breeze swirled around
him and chills rippled up and down his spine as three large shadows
loomed over him. These beings, with their cruel, icy-blue eyes,
always gave him the feeling that maybe they weren't quite human, as
if large parts of their souls were missing.

Shivering, the man pulled his knees up to his
chest and wrapped his arms tightly around them. He wasn't sure if
he could take another day of their interrogations.

"Such a revolting place," said Maven as she
peered around the room and pressed a handkerchief to her nose.
"Let's finish quickly and leave this wretched place."

Clive was bent over, carrying something
across his shoulders. It was a person. He tossed the limp body onto
the floor.

"Good evening, Mr. Tinker," said Roland.
"We've been kind enough to bring you some company. It's someone I'm
sure you'll enjoy seeing. But don't relax too much. We will be back
later for more of our lovely…discussions."

The door banged shut and the key turned in
the lock. The sound of footsteps faded away, and a far-off door
slammed with an echo.

Thankful he'd gotten a temporary reprieve;
the man crawled across the floor to the body and rolled it
over.

"Oh, my God!" he cried when he saw the face.
It was a woman he hadn't seen in a long time—his younger
sister.

"Clair! Wake up!" He brushed her hair from
her face. An ugly, black and purple bruise covered one cheek, blood
trickled from a jagged gash on her forehead, and her wrists were
red and bleeding from ropes that had been tied way too tightly
before being removed. "Clair! Can you hear me?"

The woman's eyes fluttered open. She squinted
at his scruffy face. "Benjamin? Ben? Is it really you? I can't
believe I found you!" Clair's voice grew stronger as he helped her
sit up. "If it wasn't for your voice, I don't think I would've
recognized you. You don't look too good."

Ben smiled for the first time in over a year.
"I've never been happier to see someone in my whole life."

"When I didn't hear from you on my birthday,
I knew something awful must've happened. I've been searching for
you for months."

"Well, welcome to my splendid abode with
every luxury known to man," he said as he waved his hand around at
the crumbling walls.

Clair swiped at the tears trickling down her
cheeks. "I don't see how you can joke at a time like this," she
said, with a sniffle. Something ran across her foot. "What was
that?"

"A rat. I think. Don't worry, they're
harmless. They only chew on you when you're sleeping."

She shuddered. "Ben, we have to get out of
here. I heard those dreadful Marlowes say if they don't get what
they want soon, they'll kill us."

"They're getting
frustrated," said Ben, "and it's making them a lot more ruthless.
Maybe it'll make them careless too. We need the advantage in order
to get out of here in one piece." He glanced at the high, barred
window. "We'll make our move when the moon's gone down."

H
ours later, Ben and
Clair stood at the cell's door, listening intently. All was silent.
"Okay, let's go," Ben said quietly.

Clair grasped his arm. They stepped forward
and melted through the door, as if their bodies were made of liquid
butter.

"Man, I wish I could do that by myself," Ben
whispered as they tip-toed down the passageway. "I'd've been out of
here in a flash."

"You've got your thing, I've got mine," she
whispered back.

They passed several splintered wooden doors
before coming to a large wine cellar filled with racks of dusty
bottles. Next to the wall, a heavy-set man sat slouched in a chair
with his arms crossed, his chin resting on his chest. He was
snoring softly.

They thought they had successfully tip-toed
by when he jerked awake.

"Blimey! How'd you get out?" bellowed the
man, scrambling clumsily to his feet.

Clair turned and ran through the wall.

"How'd she do that?" he asked, groping the
spot where Clair had disappeared.

Ben shrugged. "No idea."

The man was bashed from behind. He slumped to
the floor. Clair stood there smiling and clutching a wine bottle.
"Gosh, that felt good! If I wasn't in a hurry, I'd hit him again,"
she said as she crammed the cracked and dripping bottle back into
the rack.