Forgotten Lyrics: A Watersong Story

The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. 
Copyright infringement is against the law.  If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at:
us.macmillanusa.com/piracy
.

Prologue: Blackness

Salt water filled his mouth as Daniel gasped for breath. Over the sound of the boat’s engine and the crashing waves he could hear the girls’ crying, so he knew they were alive. The moon was hidden behind the clouds overhead, and he wiped the water from his eyes, squinting in the darkness.

As Daniel treaded water, he scanned the icy waves for any sign of his brother or the girl he’d seen swimming before the accident. The only thing he could clearly see was the white hull of the boat, smashed on the huge jagged rocks protruding from the water.

“John!”
Daniel shouted into the night.

When his brother didn’t answer, Daniel tried shouting again, louder this time. When John didn’t answer, Daniel dove underwater, searching the bay for his brother.

In the pitch-darkness of the water, he thought he saw a shimmer, just a tiny glint of light that caught his eye. He swam after it, hoping it was a bit of starlight breaking through the water and catching on the silver chain John wore around his neck.

Daniel swam after the phantom light until his lungs were about to burst, forcing him to swim up for air. Just as his head broke the surface of the water and he gasped for breath, something hit him. A searing pain sliced through his shoulder, and then everything was blackness.

Lydia Panning pushed open the door to her grandma’s house, the hinges creaking open with an angry squeak, and tossed her duffel bag on the floor. While Lydia liked to think of herself as a notch above the average college student, she still couldn’t resist bringing her dirty laundry with her whenever she came back from Sundham University.

“Nana?” Lydia called out when Delia didn’t respond to the opening door. “I’m home.”

Delia’s old Mustang was in the driveway, so she knew her grandma was there. Since she still hadn’t answered, Lydia set about poking around the house for her.

The living room was cluttered with antiques, and every time Lydia visited, she swore there were at least five new pieces added to Delia’s extensive collection.

A warped mirror hung on one wall, catching Lydia’s eye. It had a funhouse effect on her face, stretching her elfin nose and small lips into gargantuan proportions. But that’s not what grabbed her attention.

Something just beneath the surface seemed to be moving, almost swimming behind it. Tentatively, she reached out to touch it, and instead of hard glass, it was pliable, like gelatin.

The mirror left her fingertips wet, and white and purple smoke instantly swirled around inside it. Then, suddenly, an androgynous face formed in the mirror, like it was flying at her, with its mouth hanging open wide.

“Hello?” Lydia asked, unruffled by the sight of a wraith forming in a mirror. “Can you speak?”

The face continued to float there for a few seconds, saying nothing, and then disappeared in a puff of smoke.

“I guess not.” Lydia shrugged and dropped her hand. “I’ll try again later.”

After a childhood spent with Delia, she’d gotten used to that kind of thing. Her grandma had taught her that more often than not, specters like that just needed help, and they acted out because nobody noticed them.

No matter how frightening or horrible a monster may seem, Delia believed that nothing was beyond saving.

Lydia stepped away from the mirror, almost stumbling over a spinning wheel behind her. She caught it just before it fell, which was good because Delia would have her hide if she broke another antique.

As she was righting the spinning wheel, Lydia heard a loud thump coming from downstairs, and she scolded herself for not realizing it sooner. Obviously, her grandma would be down in the cellar.

She went out the front door, steeling herself against the chilly April air. The weather was getting warmer, but there was a bite to the wind that blew through her pink sweater.

Around the back of the quaint little blue house was a set of double doors leading down into the cellar. The doors were made of snakewood, which meant that along with having a unique beauty in their marbled grain, they were very strong and impossibly heavy. Delia had chosen them specifically so they would keep the contents of the basement safe.

But Lydia hated going down in the cellar because of them. When she grabbed the brass handle to pull them open, they barely budged.

Her grandma often said that Lydia was small enough to put in her pocket, and Lydia’s petite frame was no match for the doors. Standing just over five feet tall, Lydia still liked to believe she had the upper body strength of a lion, but against the doors she felt more like a kitten.

With some doing, she finally managed to get one open and hurried down into the cellar before it slammed shut on her. The scent of flower petals and burning leaves immediately washed over her—the familiar aroma of Delia’s safety potions.

In each of the four corners of the room were small wooden bowls filled with twigs, herbs, and a pool of liquid. That was what gave off the strong scent, and that was what kept the cellar dry and safe.

Lydia’s grandma’s cellar had to be unlike any other cellar she’d ever seen. The ceilings were very high, almost twelve feet, and it was warm and bright, no matter the season. It was as large as the house above them and filled with bookshelves that ran from floor to ceiling, which explained why Delia couldn’t see her as Lydia descended the stairs.

“Who’s there?” Delia asked, hidden somewhere among the shelves.

“It’s just me, Nana.”

“Lydia?” Delia exclaimed, and then she rounded a corner and smiled broadly at her granddaughter.

Her wavy blond hair had a few more gray streaks in it than when Lydia had seen her last, but Delia kept it long and frizzy the way she always had. She wore jeans and an old paint-splattered U2 T-shirt—her standard uniform for when she was hanging out at home.

“Hi, sweetie!” Delia hurried over and embraced her tightly. She was an especially strong woman, even though she was nearly fifty-seven. “I didn’t know you were coming home today!”

“Yeah, I decided to last minute,” Lydia said once she’d untangled herself from her grandma’s hug. “I didn’t have much homework this weekend, so I thought, why not?”

“Your laundry was probably piling up, too, I bet?” Delia asked with a knowing look.

“Maybe.” Lydia gave her a sheepish smile, then quickly changed the subject. “So what are you doing down here?”

“Oh, just some straightening up and rearranging.”

Delia walked back down to the shelves she’d been working on, and Lydia followed her. Several piles of old books were stacked up on the floor, leaving two shelves totally empty, aside from a large amount of dust and cobwebs.

“Do you want some help?” Lydia asked.

“If you want to, that’d be nice. You can dust the shelf where the grimoires were. I need to sort them out myself.” Delia picked up a book with a human face carved in the leather cover, and the spine audibly cracked when she opened it. “Some of these…”

“What?” Lydia asked when her grandma trailed off.

“They’re useless.” Delia tossed the book down on a pile. “I don’t know why I keep them around, but I’d feel terrible about throwing them out. So instead I just keep moving them, dusting them off, and putting them back on the shelf where no one will ever read them.”

Lydia climbed on a wooden stepping stool so she could reach the shelves. An old T-shirt had been ripped up to make a dust rag, and when she wiped it across the wood, a plume of dust came up in her face. Lydia brushed it away, making sure to shake out anything that landed in her short black hair.

A small spider climbed out of a web, hurrying to get away from her rag, and Lydia carefully picked it up and moved it to a lower shelf so she wouldn’t accidentally crush it.

“You know, you really ought to get a bookstore for these or something,” Lydia said. “You shouldn’t just keep them in an old cellar.”

Delia had crouched down to sort through the books, and she glanced up at Lydia. “You always say that, but it’s a nice cellar, and they do just fine here.”

“I know that you take good care of them, and they’re safe here,” Lydia said as she dusted. “But there’s so much information, and I think it’d be better if there was, like, a store or a library so it’d be easier for people to access this information.”

“I don’t want just anybody in here pawing around the books.” Delia picked a large brown book that was so thick, she had to use two hands. “This book right here, it’s six hundred years old and has a spell on how to raise the dead. I can’t just have some Joe Schmoe off the street picking this up, now, can I?”

“Well, no,” Lydia admitted. “But maybe you could keep dangerous books in back or something.”

“I’ve got things under control. When I die, and you inherit all of this, you can open a bookstore if you want.” Delia gestured widely to the room, referencing the hundreds of books that filled her cellar. “But for now, we’ll keep things the same.”

“I just worry that people might not be able to find you or the books if they need them.”

“Those who need me always find me,” Delia said matter-of-factly.

Lydia stopped dusting and turned back to her. “How can you be so sure?”

“I just am.” Delia shrugged. “Take today, for instance—a girl came in looking for my help. I don’t know how she found me, and I didn’t ask, but the point is that she found me.”

“What did she need help with?” Lydia asked.

Delia shook her head. “I don’t know exactly. She wouldn’t really say. She hinted at a few things about curses, but she wouldn’t get more specific. She was a little skittish.”

“Who was she?”

“She didn’t say her name, and I didn’t ask.”

“Was she human?” Lydia pressed.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Delia paused for a moment and stared off in thought. “She was a really gorgeous girl. Just breathtakingly beautiful. Long brown hair, and these big doe eyes. She was just…stunning.” She looked up at Lydia with a rueful smile. “Not that you aren’t pretty; this was just definitely supernatural.”

Lydia smirked. “I’m comfortable in my own prettiness, Nana, but thank you.”

“But I don’t know
what
she was.” Delia scratched her head and her brow wrinkled in frustration. “I don’t think I’ve encountered anything like her before.”

“And you couldn’t help her?” Lydia asked.

“No. She refused to go into specifics, and I couldn’t give her anything, with info that vague. She seemed like a real sweet girl, but there was definitely trouble after her.” Delia straightened up and rubbed her arms, as if she suddenly felt a chill.

“She had that look in her eyes, the one your mom has when she’s on the run from some new idiot boyfriend of hers,” Delia went on. “When she’s looking for safety but is too afraid to ask for it.”

Lydia’s mother had been only sixteen when she had her, and while her father had been considerably older, he didn’t feel he was fit to raise Lydia himself. So that left Lydia in the care of Delia most of the time.

Her mother had a bad habit of getting involved with all the wrong kinds of people and disappearing for long stretches at a time. Then she’d show up out of the blue, often with bruises, sometimes with track marks, and then she’d be gone again. Now it had been over two years since Lydia had seen her mom.

“So what happened with this girl?” Lydia asked. “Did she just leave?”

“Yeah.” Delia let out a resigned sigh. “I couldn’t help her, and she didn’t want to stay. So there was nothing more I could do.”

“But you said she’s in trouble.”

Delia nodded. “She is, but I can’t force help on her. She’ll come back when she’s ready.”

“
If
she’s ever ready,” Lydia clarified.

“That’s true. Some people never are,” Delia agreed thoughtfully.

Though neither of them said it, Lydia knew they were both thinking of her mother.

“Anyway.” Delia turned to Lydia and forced a smile. “I think you’ve helped me enough for one night. It looks pretty good down here. Why don’t we head upstairs, and I’ll make you something to eat? You’re wasting away.”

“Okay.” Lydia set aside her rag and climbed down off the stool. “That sounds good.”

“So what are your plans for this weekend?” Delia looped her arm around Lydia’s shoulders as they weaved their way through the piles of books.

“I didn’t have many,” Lydia said. “I think I might visit my friend Marcy.”

“Marcy? That girl is weird.”

Lydia laughed, a tinkling noise that always sounded like it belonged more to a fairy than to a human, even to her own ears. “Nana,
we’re
weird.”

“I know,” Delia said as they climbed the stairs up out of the cellar.