Changeling's Island - eARC Read Free

brought this on yourself. Pack your things, Tim. You’re only allowed fifteen kilos of luggage, and Tom has booked you on the plane at midday. I’ve had to take another day off work for this. And you can clean up this pigsty before you go!”
    He could hear the sound of rush-hour cars in the street, and see that the sun shining through the window was sparkling on the dust motes dancing in the air. If it was that bright and noisy he should be on his way to school, to another miserable but predictable day.
    So. It wasn’t all some kind of nightmare. He was leaving Melbourne. Leaving the life he knew, leaving everything and everyone. He hoped at least that that was true. He’d be leaving his friends, if he had any. At St. Dominic’s there was only Hailey, and then, he had to admit, only if she didn’t have an audience and if she wanted something. His heart still hurt thinking about her. She was drop-dead gorgeous, in spite of it all. He didn’t even want to think farther back in his life. He’d been sort of happy here, once. Had a few guys he played about with at junior school, but then they’d moved, and he’d gone to St. Dominic’s. Before his father left, before his unlucky thirteenth birthday, when the weird accidents had started happening around him.
    He turned to his room, determined not to think about it all. It was like deciding not to think about pink elephants. So what did you pack when you could only take fifteen kilos of your life with you? Well. Not barbells. Not that he had any. He’d kind of wanted some, so he could get stronger and bigger…only, they were expensive and…Books? Some of them. Sabriel . Lord of the Rings . The Harry Potters could stay. Did his laptop count? It was old and heavy, a hand-me-down. The battery only did twenty minutes. He was still sitting there, trying to reach decisions, when his mother bustled back in carrying a suitcase. “Haven’t you done anything yet? Don’t just sit there, Tim!”
    And on his desk, just behind her and across the room from him, a pile of books tilted, tipped, and the first fell, bang! to the floor.
    They both stared as the next book tipped over the edge and fell to land on the next. And then the next…
    “I suppose you think you’re incredibly funny with these tricks! Grow up!” shouted his mother, and stormed out of the room.
    Tim sat and stared at the books. They didn’t move again. So he got up, and went to the kitchen and had a bowl of cornflakes. He didn’t really know what else to do, and he was past caring, and into the hopelessly resigned phase of coping. Books overbalanced, especially in tottery piles, when people stomped into the room. And actually, he didn’t really give a toss what he packed. Well. He had to take a couple of books and his “I love Ireland” T-shirt. It was way too small by now. But like the stamp in his passport, it proved he’d been there. Looking back, he could see the trip had been his father’s attempt to patch his failing marriage, taking Mum for that trip back “home” to Ireland that she’d always claimed she wanted. But at the time Tim had just enjoyed it. And there’d been something about that green and ancient place that had made him think it was sort of home-ish too. It wasn’t, of course. This was.
    He slouched back to his room. Looked at the case his mother had dropped. Groaned. It had a Spiderman II logo on it. He’d thought that was really flash…when he was nine. It had been cheap, getting rid of old stock, but then he hadn’t cared. If anyone saw him with it now they’d crack up. He put it on the bed. Began putting things into it, more or less at random, after the books. He looked at the “I love Ireland” T-shirt. It was faded, the collar frayed, and it was way, way too small. He wasn’t big for his age, but that shirt was, like, not going to ever fit again. He blinked. He wasn’t going to let it get to him. He firmly put it back in the cupboard, walked out into the hall and dug