Amber Frost

309 Pages·2011·1.47 MB·English

by  Davis Suzi

AMBER FROST
book one of THE LOST MAGIC
Suzi Davis
ireadiwrite Publishing
2010
ireadiwrite Publishing Edition
Copyright © 2010 Suzi Davis
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without
written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and
reviews.
This ireadiwrite Publishing edition is published by arrangement with Suzi Davis, contact at
[email protected] ireadiwrite Publishing – www.ireadiwrite.com First electronic edition published
by ireadiwrite Publishing
Amber Frost
ISBN 978-1-926760-49-0
Published in Canada with international distribution.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business
establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Michelle Halket
Original Cover Photography: © Courtesy CanStock Photo
I would like to dedicate this novel to my Mum,
who taught me how to read,
inspired me to write,
encouraged me to dream
and believed in me every step of the way.
Acknowledgements
“It takes a village to raise a child” and it has taken numerous people to get this
book to where it is today. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank all of the
amazing people who have helped me along the way.
This story would never have been completed if it weren’t for the
encouragement and support of my family and friends. Thank you all for keeping
me (mostly) sane. Most especially, thank you to Camille, my Mommy-mentor
and website-creator extraordinaire. And thank you to Jessica, who was kind and
wise enough to point me in the right direction when I was starting to feel lost. I
would also like to thank my wonderful husband, Jesse, for his limitless patience
and endless support. Without you, this book would not exist.
I would never have found the courage to let my writing be read if it weren’t
for my sister. Thank you, Francoise, for all your encouragement, for always
being there to bounce ideas off, for your practical and dependable advice, and
for letting me take advantage of your Honours in English at every possible
opportunity.
I must also thank the mysterious “shadow readers” who were the first to read,
review and recommend my book. Your time, effort and hard work are
appreciated.
And thank you to Michelle Halket at ireadiwrite Publishing, for believing in
my writing and for giving me the opportunity to share Amber Frost with the
world. Your support, advice and stellar editing skills are endlessly appreciated.
Not only have you brought out the best in my writing, you have also created the
most amazing cover to wrap it in!
Finally, I’d like to thank my little monster, my son. Your arrival into my life
has improved absolutely every aspect of me (including my writing) in the most
amazing and unexpected ways. You are the inspiration and motivation for
absolutely everything that I do. Thank you.
Chapter One – Design
My pen carefully moved across the paper, twisting, flowing, black ink
streaking in its wake across the virgin white surface. The contrast was bold and
oddly satisfying. I surrendered to my instincts, allowing my subconscious to
control my movements. I watched as if from a distance as the intricate swirls
untangled into a detailed pattern, my pen dancing across the page. It was a
strange sensation, to be so absorbed in my drawing but to feel so detached from
my actions at the same time. This was one of the rare times I didn’t overanalyze.
There were no rules that bound me here; I was free to express myself, to escape.
It was one of the reasons why I often chose to work in the art room during my
free periods. I found a strange kind of peace beneath the high ceilings and under
the glaring fluorescent lights. I sat at my usual place, the desk that was always
left empty at the side of the room. My seat was facing the tall windows at the
back of the art room that looked out over the school courtyard. On sunny days I
would gaze out at the bright blue sky and watch wispy, white clouds drift by.
Lately, I’d been watching the late autumn rains fall, washing away the last traces
of summer as the seasons turned and changed.
I felt safe in the art room. No one knew me here – no, that wasn’t true.
Everyone knew me everywhere. But no one spoke to me here and no one
expected me to speak to them. I didn’t have to try so hard. I could afford the
luxury of letting myself go – a little. I was free to doodle, to daydream and to
work through my increasingly complex thoughts. Life never used to be this
complicated but lately... lately something was wrong. I’d become aware that
there was something missing in my life, something I couldn’t quite put my finger
on.
I continued to draw, spiraling deeper within myself with each precise and
impulsively placed line.
My life was all about order, all about rules. It started with my parents, their
strict ideas about how an eighteen year-old girl should behave, all the things I
must accomplish, everything I should want, all that I should strive for. I tried my
best to please them, to be the daughter that they wanted me to be. Each day I
dressed myself in the expensive and fashionable clothes my mother bought for
me. I paid meticulous attention to my appearance, knowing that my mother
expected me to appear flawless and composed at all times. My parents had many
expectations for me – good grades, extra-curricular activities, to be friendly,
polite and bubbly no matter how I truly felt. It didn’t feel like their standards
were too high; I knew they just wanted me to be happy in the way they thought I
should be. I never disappointed them.
I was fairly certain my parents were happy or at least pleased with themselves;
all of their dreams and desires were coming true but they had expected no less
from life. They weren’t satisfied; what we had was never enough and they
constantly strove for more. My father had recently been promoted to a partner at
the law-firm where he had worked for the past three years. This had meant more
prestige for our family and almost as importantly, more money. We’d moved
into the city of Victoria, closer to my father’s office and into a significantly
larger house. My mother had been able to buy more expensive things to fill our
bigger, fancier home and I’d been enrolled into a better school, the prestigious
Craigflower Academy.
We lived on Vancouver Island, on the West Coast of Canada. Craigflower
Academy was in Victoria, British Columbia’s quaint and touristy capital city. It
was where we’d relocated to from our previous smaller, rural home outside of
the city. I missed our old neighborhood, the fields, the forests, the nearby lake,
but I didn’t complain, I never complained. I forced out a smile as we said
goodbye to the house I’d lived in for most of my life. I didn’t shed a single tear
as I left the private school that I’d attended for the past sixteen years and all my
old friends behind. The future held bigger and better things for me than them or
so I’d been told. There was no reason to feel sad.
I knew I was lucky to be going to such a prestigious private school. I knew I
should be impressed by Craigflower’s beautifully manicured campus grounds,
historic-looking, statuesque buildings, state of the art equipment and world-
renowned teaching staff. And I should have been thrilled to move into such a
huge, beautiful, new house with so many windows, balconies and pillars. There
may have been no fields and forests in my new neighborhood but we now lived
right along the waterfront on the exclusive Beach Drive, minutes from the ocean
and just a short drive to Victoria’s busy downtown area. I should be proud of our
beautiful gardens, tall oak trees and high, iron gates. Yet often, I would wistfully
gaze out my third story bedroom window to the snow peaked mountains on the
horizon and the forests and mountains that bordered the city. I had to remind
myself that we were now in the right neighborhood, socializing with the right
people and I was finally attending the right school. I knew I should be grateful. I
knew I should try harder.
My pen began weaving and looping, tracing lines faster, harder, darker. The
pattern that had started out so neat and precise was exploding outwards across
the page, the lines tangling out into a dark and detailed nest that overwhelmed
the pristine white in twisted shadows. I watched myself curiously, vaguely
surprised by the darkness of the image I was creating.
My life was nothing like this drawing. My life was ordered, carefully
contained, perfect. I had everything I’d ever been told I wanted. I was aware that
most of the girls at my new school envied me. I’d been told many times I was
beautiful, so I supposed it was true. The compliments held little value or interest
to me. I was slightly taller than average and had a slim yet toned figure; I
followed a strictly regimented exercise routine and always watched what I ate.
My hair flowed in thick waves almost to my waist and was a warm shade of
golden, chestnut-brown. My skin was flawless and smooth, my eyes were a
sapphire ocean blue, my lashes dark, long and curled, my brows and lips
perfectly shaped, my nose and teeth perfectly straight. I always appeared to be
perfect, not a hair out of place due to considerable effort on my part. Sometimes
it was tedious being me but it was a responsibility I was expected to fill.
I knew it wasn’t just my looks that the girls at school were jealous of; it was
also my boyfriend, Clarke Simons, who they envied. He was tall, dark and
handsome, great smile, athletic, track and field star, good student and without a
doubt the most popular boy in school. He’d asked me out only a week after I
started at Craigflower and of course I said yes. He was obviously the right kind
of person for me to date. Our relationship brought me into his tightly knit fold of
popular students, ensuring I associated with the right people at my new school.
He also came from the right kind of family; the Simons were well known in
Victoria and my parents were thrilled to hear I was dating their only son. The
Simons soon began inviting my family out to various prestigious events and
functions in and around the city – my parents couldn’t be happier. And, of
course, Clarke was far better to me than I deserved. He was proud of me and
loved to flaunt me around school on his arm. He took me to fancy restaurants
and bought me expensive things, and constantly told me how beautiful I was.
What more could I want or ask from life?
I sighed. My pen stopped moving as I emerged from my trance, curiously
studying the drawing before me. At first glance it was a mess, like a child’s
random and angry scribbling. Upon closer examination though, a pattern was
revealed. The lines flowed smoothly in and out of one another in a detailed and
complex design that spoke of rigid, meticulous order hidden within the chaos.
The drawing was angry and raw. It was the emptiness that was inside of me; the
carefully contained, intricate darkness. Most girls would trade lives with me in a
split second. I was young, smart, attractive and popular. I was quickly climbing
the social ladder at school, already one of the most popular girls after only
attending Craigflower for a couple months. Yet why was I so unhappy with all
the wonderful things that I had? Why did I feel so hollow, like the core of my
life, my being, was missing?
I glared down at the beautiful, black, twisted drawing. What was wrong with
me? I knew I was going to have to throw the drawing out. No one would
understand it – how could they when I barely understood it myself? The abstract,
black pattern didn’t seem like it could possibly have come from my hand. I felt
relieved that none of my new, popular friends were taking art; there was no one
important there to bear witness to my strange creation, this raw, naked exposure
of my soul. I’d never drawn anything like this before, I wasn’t even sure where
the impulse had come from to draw it just now but I knew that the time for
daydreaming and escapism was over.
I sat up straighter, blinking rapidly as if waking from a dream. I refocused my
eyes, refocused my attention and I came back to the present, back to reality.
And that’s when I noticed him.
I became aware of his presence before I actually saw him standing there,
leaning against the side of my desk. Though I hadn’t noticed him until that
moment, I had a strange sense that he had been standing there for some time. He
stood right beside me but unexpectedly, he wasn’t looking my way. His dark,
clouded eyes were focused on my strange drawing, a slight frown on his face.
His attention was trapped within the web of dark, coiled lines, and so I felt safe
looking him over, examining his strange and striking features.
I had no idea who he was. This in itself was another surprise. In the past two
months I thought I had learnt the names of everyone at my new school but I had
never noticed this tall, dark-haired boy before. I certainly would have
remembered him; he was completely unique, like no one else I’d ever seen.