From a Distant Star

  ALSO BY KAREN MCQUESTION

  FOR ADULTS

  A Scattered Life

  Easily Amused

  The Long Way Home

  Hello Love

  FOR YOUNG ADULTS

  Favorite

  Life on Hold

  Edgewood (Book One of the Edgewood Series)

  Wanderlust (Book Two of the Edgewood Series)

  Absolution (Book Three of the Edgewood Series)

  FOR CHILDREN

  Celia and the Fairies

  Secrets of the Magic Ring

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2015 Karen McQuestion

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Skyscape, New York

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Skyscape are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781477830178

  ISBN-10: 1477830170

  ISBN-13: 9781477830161

  ISBN-10: 1477830162

  eISBN: 9781477880166

  Book design by Cyanotype Book Architects

  For Terry Goodman

  This one’s for you

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Nowhere to go but out,

  Nowhere to come but back.”

  —“The Pessimist,” Benjamin Franklin King

  A piercing light flashed across the sky and plunged to the earth, landing in a farmer’s field. The old dog, Mack, who had been peeing against the side of the barn, saw the disc-shaped object crash and bounce, skidding thirty feet and throwing dirt as it went. A high-pitched humming and faint glow came off the object, arousing his curiosity, and he trotted out to take a look. Getting closer, he approached cautiously, nose to the ground. The object was the size and shape of his water bowl, iridescent in color, and topped with a shiny dome.

  Mack circled around, sniffing while he inched forward, his eyes glowing from the reflection of the object’s light. As he watched, the top popped open with a gentle hiss, leaving a snout-sized gap. At the same time, the lights on the object dimmed, then went off entirely. Utterly fascinating.

  The old dog was sure his boy, Lucas, would want to know about this. It had been a longstanding tradition that Mack brought back anything of interest from his explorations, something that never failed to delight the boy. He always got an enthusiastic rub behind the ears for his trouble, and sometimes a treat, but as curious as Mack was, he was also wary of this thing. It didn’t smell like anything he’d ever encountered before. Under different circumstances, he’d have marked the spot and brought Lucas back later during a walk, but the boy hadn’t gotten out of bed in a long time and the dog knew the other people in the house wouldn’t help. All of them, except the girl, acted as if Mack were a nuisance. Sometimes he even had to remind them to fill his food bowl.

  The night sky was bright with stars and a nearly full moon, and as his eyes adjusted, he brought his nose closer for a good whiff. Metallic, almost like blood but not quite. And there was something else too, something that he couldn’t quite place. So very odd. Of all the millions of smells he knew, this wasn’t one of them. He knew the scent of humans, Lucas being his favorite. The boy’s sweat after working in the fields or coming home from ball practice signaled his arrival before he even came into view. Later, when things changed and Lucas had less energy for their walks, the boy’s smell became tinged with a medicinal odor that seeped out of his pores and clung to his clothing and hair. The relationship between the dog and his boy changed too, with Lucas having barely enough energy to pet him, and the others shooing Mack out of the room at every turn. And now Lucas slept around the clock. It just wasn’t right.

  Mack heard the creak of the screen door opening right before the woman’s voice rang out. “Mack? Where are you? Get back here now!” Her tone was impatient and he knew if he didn’t return to the house soon, she’d lock the door and he’d be stuck outside until morning. He yipped a quick response before quickly sticking his nose into the opening at the top of the disc-shaped object in order to commit the smell to his olfactory memory. This time he caught a different odor: something alarming, something alive. At the very second his brain grasped this fact, a shapeless something flew out of the craft, latched onto his nose, and wiggled upward until it covered his eyes. The sensation was stronger than a breeze, almost like a splash of water to the face, but not exactly like that either. He stepped back, blinked, and shook his head trying to get the thing off him, but it was stuck, covering his eyes and making his vision murky. Panic-stricken, he panted and trembled, feeling it seep through the membranes to the back of his eyes. A split second later, he felt nothing. It was gone. He whined to himself, a sound of relief.

  “Mack! I mean it!” Her voice pierced the night air. It was the sound of aggravation and bone-weary tiredness, but the dog only heard the finality of it. He barked to let her know he was on his way, then turned and raced back to the house.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Emma, it’s getting late.” I looked up to see Mrs. Walker in the doorway with her arms crossed, doing her best impression of a stern parent. “Were you planning on staying all night again?”

  Really? She had to ask? After all this time, she still didn’t get it. If my own mother didn’t mind me being here night and day, what was Mrs. Walker’s problem? “Yes,” I said, looking down at Lucas, lying still in the bed next to me. I wasn’t going to leave him. Not now. Not ever.

  “Okay,” she said, giving in and turning around. I heard her in the kitchen, setting up the coffeemaker for the next day, then emptying the dishwasher. Lucas’s hospital bed had been set up in the dining room, right in the middle of the house. Lucas’s parents had no idea how much I’d heard of their private conversations, their many discussions concerning me and Lucas and his so-called “impending death.” I knew they didn’t want me here in their home. They
resented my imposition on their family. But they didn’t have the heart to keep me away.

  During the school year, Mrs. Walker had made a good case for me to spend some time away. I had school to attend in the morning, homework to do in the evening. I’d already dropped out of all my extracurriculars, but I didn’t want to miss school. When Lucas got better, he’d be finishing high school. I was a year behind him originally, but with all the time he’d taken off for the treatment of his cancer, he’d have a lot to make up. If all went well, we’d wind up graduating together. During the year, I had reluctantly left his side to go to classes and tried to concentrate on my subjects, but it was nearly impossible. My grades should have taken a hit, but I think my teachers felt sorry for me, the girlfriend of Lucas, the guy bravely battling cancer, so they gave me grades I didn’t quite deserve. All the teachers loved Lucas. He was the golden boy of Westridge High: blond curly hair, football star, honor student, great personality, always smiling. It was a small country high school and everyone knew him. Everyone liked him too. All the guys were his buddies. All the girls wanted him for their boyfriend. But none of those other girls could have him. He was mine.

  And I was his. I was his savior, the one he hung on for. He’d said as much, back when he was still speaking, and even now that he was comatose, I could tell he knew I was there, right by his side. I talked to him and stroked his hair, and when Mr. and Mrs. Walker and Lucas’s brother, Eric, weren’t around, I did more than that, kissing him and caressing his skin, hoping somehow to reach him. Hoping he’d find the emotional thread that linked us so I could pull him away from the next world and back into this one.

  When Lucas and I had started dating at the end of my sophomore year, it was pretty clear I wasn’t his parents’ first choice for their son. It didn’t matter that I was an honors student and used my best manners; they were still stuck on the fact that my mother and I lived in a trailer park off the highway. That, and the fact that I am, and always have been, completely fatherless. The first dinner at their house, Mrs. Walker had asked, “What does your dad do, Emma?”

  Lucas shot his mother a disapproving look, but I was ready with my standard response. I shrugged and said, “I don’t know. I’ve never met him.”

  My mom had told me that my father had been an international student at the university where she’d once worked as an administrative assistant. They’d had a fling for a few weeks and then he was gone, back to where he came from. Mom was vague about his country of origin, but judging from my coal-black eyes, olive skin, and dark hair, it seemed likely he was Middle Eastern. My mom wasn’t much for long-term relationships. She’d always had boyfriends, but none of them were keepers. One had shown me how to hot-wire a car and the best way to roll smokes. That guy was named Owen. He didn’t last long before Mom found out about his outstanding warrants and kicked him to the curb. Her taste in men was questionable, but at least they never lived with us.

  So the Walkers looked down on me. Once I overheard Lucas’s mother say, “She follows him around like a duckling, like she’d be lost without him.” Lucas wanted to confront her about this, but I talked him out of it. That was back when I still thought I could win them over. But it never happened. Lucas and I had been together for over a year and the entire time they hoped we would break up, but we didn’t.

  I didn’t think too much of them either, for two reasons. First of all, for as many problems as my mom had, she was the perfect mother as far as I was concerned because she didn’t try to take credit for everything I did. Sometimes I’d hand her my report card or show her a paper I wrote and she’d practically cry with joy. “Brilliant,” she’d say, hugging me. “You are absolutely brilliant. I’m so impressed.”

  Not like Lucas’s dad, Mr. Walker, who took credit for everything Lucas did, bragging, “He takes after me.” Or worse yet, smugly telling Lucas, “See, I told you if you studied, you’d get an A.” And then he always had to add, “Now don’t get complacent. You still have to keep this up for the rest of the semester, you know.”

  So that was the first reason I wasn’t a fan of Lucas’s parents. The second reason is that they gave up on him so easily. Sure, he had cancer, but big deal, people got cancer and beat it all the time. It was a shock for everyone when he was diagnosed, but Lucas was athletic and strong. All you had to do was look at him and you knew he’d survive. He was life. Lucas could run like the wind. I’d seen him lift a ninety-pound calf like it was nothing. It was unthinkable that he’d die. I just knew this was a bump in the road. Something to beat. We had plans, the two of us, and dying of stupid cancer wasn’t part of them.

  But both of his parents gave up on him right from the start. They always thought the worst, selling his car when he got too sick to go to school. As if he’d never drive again.

  His mother couldn’t look at Lucas without getting teary eyed. And Mr. Walker was devastated to learn the treatment would leave Lucas sterile, as if passing on the family genes meant anything at a time like this. Mr. and Mrs. Walker had hushed conversations about statistics, and treatment plans, and numbers. Always the numbers. They’d say, “The numbers don’t look good. They’re not in the range.” Their negativity was everywhere, seeping from room to room, poisoning the air. Later on, they started talking about funerals and how they didn’t want him to suffer any longer, and I had to put my hands over Lucas’s ears to keep him from hearing. The last member of the family, Lucas’s fourteen-year-old brother, Eric, started to avoid everyone, including me and Lucas. When he wasn’t doing chores or going to school, he was out in the barn, tinkering with old cars in his workshop. He holed up in there like he hoped to come out someday and find everything fine again.

  I was the only one dealing with this in a sane way. The only one. After Lucas went into a coma, even the visiting nurses tried to undermine me. They’d point out how much weight he’d lost, how his skin tone had changed, and how shallow his breathing was. One of them, a tall woman named Nancy, put her hand on my shoulder and talked to me like I was a first grader. “See how sunken his eyes are?” she said. “And how nonresponsive he is?” She pinched his wrist and Lucas did nothing but lie still like he was playing dead. “I’ve done hospice care for a long time, honey. This is the beginning of the end.” She went on to say he might have as much as a week, but that if we were lucky, he’d slip away sooner than that. “Poor baby has suffered enough.” She told me they were doing something called palliative care. He had a catheter for his pee and a patch for pain relief and that was all. “Not much urine,” she said, showing me the bag. “And what there is, is dark in color. His body is shutting down.”

  I didn’t bother to respond to her, but after she left, I whispered in Lucas’s ear, “Don’t listen to her. You’re going to get better. We’ll show her.” Once he went into the coma and couldn’t eat or drink on his own, I dribbled water into his mouth and wiped a wet sponge over his parched lips. Screw Nancy and her wise proclamations. She didn’t know a thing about Lucas. After he made his miraculous recovery, I’d tell him all about Nancy—her ridiculous scrubs covered in cartoon panda bears, how she called everyone “honey,” and the way she always bustled in humming some nameless tune, acting like she knew it all.

  Because I had a few things up my sleeve that I hadn’t told anyone about. Mainly that I was calling in outside forces. First of all, I’d been praying like no one on the face of planet Earth had ever prayed before. I’d never been one for prayer, but when things got serious, I put it into overdrive, imagining God on the other end thinking, hmmm . . . Emma doesn’t usually pray. This must be serious. I could almost feel God making a plan for everything to work out just fine.

  So that was the first thing.

  The second thing I’d done was visit Mrs. Kokesh right after school let out for summer vacation a few days earlier. She lived as far from the center of town as the Walkers did, but in the other direction. With my backpack strapped on, I rode my bike to her house. By the time I arrived, I was out of breath, my legs like jelly.
Her two-story house was falling down, white paint peeling, porch sagging. Moss growing on the roof. The place was reportedly haunted. Mrs. Kokesh sold produce from a stand by the road during the growing season, which generally didn’t start until late June in this part of central Wisconsin, but mysteriously, her vegetables were always ready before everyone else’s.

  She also did magic, for a price. I’d heard the stories for years. Tales of dying pets brought to health. Love potions that really worked. Magic candles that affected everyone who breathed in the smoke. A spell that ended a drought. But things backfired too, and if she didn’t agree with your motives, you might get what she thought you needed instead of what you asked for, and some of it was pretty nasty. That was the story anyway. I didn’t know anyone who’d actually gone to her, but the stories, they went round and round. I saw her once at the gas station filling up her ancient Buick, and she just looked like an old lady to me, all hunched over and wearing lots of layers of clothing. It was her disguise, they said. She looked like a harmless old lady, but really she was very powerful.

  I made the decision to visit right after Lucas went into the coma and Nancy said he was as good as gone. I still had my faith, but things were looking really bad; even I could see that. All the stories I’d heard at school had made me a little afraid of Mrs. Kokesh, but after biking all that way, there was no way I was turning back. I got off my bike and let it drop to the ground, then went up the steps to the porch and knocked on the door. She answered like I had an appointment, greeting me by name and ushering me inside. She wore a shapeless, brown dress with a droopy fabric belt. “How do you know my name?” I asked.

  “Small town,” she said, shuffling past a staircase and down a dimly lit hallway. “Pretty girl like you stands out. Especially when you’re with the Walker boy. Him with his blond hair, you so dark.”

  “You know Lucas?” I’d followed her into the kitchen where she gestured for me to take a seat. I pulled out a chair and set my backpack on the floor next to my feet.

  She nodded and got a glass from the cabinet and a pitcher of lemonade from the fridge. “I know everyone in this nothing town, but he is especially memorable. I’ve had more than a few girls come with him in mind, asking for love spells.” She set the glass of lemonade in front of me. “One said she’d loved Lucas since the third grade.”