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The Kingdom of Kevin Malone
Magic Carpet Books
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What Reviewers Have Said about
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The Bronze King
Wildside Press
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An ExcerptThe bronze charger shook its mane and sprang away down the shoreline of the lake, heading for the empty plinth at the far end. The horse would jump back up there, the king's raised swords would quiet the frothing waters of the lake, and the kraken wouldn't get into my world. We had won. Something reared up out of the water, up and up. It was huge and glistery wet in the moonlight, black as ink, and roaring. Water streamed off it, and its eyes were hot red sparks set high in its towering shape. Everything shimmered behind the steam that flowed off the creature's shiny black hide. The kraken had come. I covered my ears to shut out its voice, but I couldn't stop looking. Jagiello's horse skidded to a stop. The bronze King turned to face the kraken, with his crossed swords raised high. He shouted in a voice like the bells of a hundred steeples; if there were words, I didn't hear them. Then he aimed the two swords straight over his horse's neck at the kraken, and charged into the shallow lake. Sheets of water shot up from the plunging bronze hooves — and then the horse stopped, swayed, and almost fell. It dragged one hoof free with a fat, sucking sound, and I realized that its great weight had sunk its feet deep into the mucky lake bottom. I saw the kraken arch steeply, coiled to attack. The horse threw its metal head and strained its huge shoulders, trying to pull free. King Jagiello stood high in his stirrups, his body curved taut like the horse's body because of course they were one being, cast in bronze, and doomed. My clutching fingers found something heavy in my coat pocket: my grandmother's chain link purse, full of silver dollars. Silver is magic. The purse hefted beautifully in my hand. I hauled back and fired it off as hard as I could, and it smacked the dripping monster somewhere high up, and stuck there. The kraken voices shrieked and squealed, the sparky little red eyes turned in my direction. I yelled, "Kraken, kraken, stinky kraken, come and get me!" It came.
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The Silver Glove
Wildside Press
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An ExcerptAs the Saturday flea market began to break up, I helped Gran turn her card table on its side to fold its legs up. I was boiling with questions. I said, "You can't disappear *again* now, Gran, not until you teach me how to really use the silver glove. I don't know anything about what it can do — " Gran pointed. "Look!" There was evil Dr. Brightner at one of the gates in the fence, talking with a young policeman. Brightner must have waited outside my building and followed me, figuring that sooner or later I would lead him to my magic grandmother — and, like a jerk, I did. We were trapped inside the fence around the flea market. Brightner had been a cop himself once. All he had to say was that Gran had run away from a nursing home, addled and paranoid, and that I was a "troubled teen". Hands in the pockets of his beautiful cashmere coat, he ambled toward us down the aisle between the vendors' stalls. I could see his toothy, triumphant smile. Granny Gran caught me by the hand and dragged me back to the big, corner carpet stall, where only the largest of the rugs still lay unrolled on the cement. Gran pulled me onto the middle of the carpet with her. The carpet seller said, "Hey!" Brightner burst into a run. Gran pointed her finger at the center rosette design in the carpet and muttered something that sounded like "twelve-o'clock high!" The carpet gave a lurch, turned slightly, and shot straight up into the sky, with me and Gran aboard. I shrieked a shriek they must have heard in New Jersey. It was a short
shriek, because the carpet went up like an express elevator, the kind that
leaves your breath behind with your stomach at ground level. Past the edge
of the carpet, which I was clutching with both hands, I saw Dr. Brightner
down below. He stood with his legs braced apart and his hands on his hips,
just staring up after us, while everybody else down there, including the
rug vendor, danced around screaming and pointing skyward.
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The Golden Thread
Wildside Press
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An ExcerptBosanka said sharply, "Look, Valentine!" I looked. The inside of the clothing store went suddenly dim — or was it the inside of my head? The carpeted floor was now a damp dirt path. The racks of sport clothes were green and rustling undergrowth that led my eye into dark forest depths on either side. Close by, some thing made soft, nervous churring sounds. Where the sales clerk had been stood an animal like a giant kangaroo, round shouldered and covered with yellowish fur. I heard water splashing on stone as the big animal worked with what it held under the stream — a bunch of wide, flat, purple leaves. "You see," Bosanka said coldly. At the sound of her voice, the kangaroo-clerk dropped the leaves and began shifting from one foot to the other, blinking at us and anxiously wringing is paws in front of its stomach. Its open mouth showed uneven yellow teeth, and I could see the gleam of its sharp wet claws. "Bosanka, stop it!" I gasped. I fumbled frantically behind me for the door handle. My fingers touched the rough bark of a tree. "You see," Bosanka said again. There was a scornful twist to her mouth as she watched me sweat. "I see, I see!" I jabbered, stepping sideways away from the ex-clerk in a panic. Bosanka did some quick, intricate moves with her hands, like making a cat's cradle without string. The foggy air thickened into a white blanket which melted away in an instant. There was the store clerk, coughing and snuffling and poking around under the counter. I slumped against the heavy glass door of the shop, breathless with relief. The clerk bobbed up again with a wad of tissues clutched in her hand. "Oh, excuse me," she panted, looking wildly around the store. "I don't know what's wrong with me today. Allergies, I think, even if it is still winter. " "Oh, it's the damp," I agreed hastily. "It can really get to you." Bosanka uttered a derisive snort and turned to go; what could I do but
follow her?
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Copyright © 2002 by Suzy McKee Charnas |
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