Poor Clara. On the one hand, things are going well: sheâs aced her Math final, and schoolâs almost out for the year. Dadâs hanging in there with contract jobs, Momâs helping make ends meet by cleaning other peopleâs homes, and theyâve at least got a roof over their heads. Vegas isnât the nicest place in the summer, but itâs no worse than the half-dozen other places sheâs lived in her short life.
But on the other hand, she has no friends. Everyone at school is either diffident or a bullyâas if they can sense that Clara doesnât quite fit in. And then there are the triplets, who mysteriously vanish in the Art Alley near the school.
Thatâs when things get interesting.
Clara follows them through a Border to Underhill, and before long sheâs thrown into a world she never knew existed. A world of magic, witches, excitement, and danger. She not only has to fit in with her new classmatesâand avoid the ire of the âinâ clique that every school seems to haveâsheâs apparently the only one who can save all of Underhill from an exile who wants to trap them all and cut off the source of magic!
Poor Clara. On the one hand, things are going well: sheâs aced her Math final, and schoolâs almost out for the year. Dadâs hanging in there with contract jobs, Momâs helping make ends meet by cleaning other peopleâs homes, and theyâve at least got a roof over their heads. Vegas isnât the nicest place in the summer, but itâs no worse than the half-dozen other places sheâs lived in her short life.
But on the other hand, she has no friends. Everyone at school is either diffident or a bullyâas if they can sense that Clara doesnât quite fit in. And then there are the triplets, who mysteriously vanish in the Art Alley near the school.
Thatâs when things get interesting.
Clara follows them through a Border to Underhill, and before long sheâs thrown into a world she never knew existed. A world of magic, witches, excitement, and danger. She not only has to fit in with her new classmatesâand avoid the ire of the âinâ clique that every school seems to haveâsheâs apparently the only one who can save all of Underhill from an exile who wants to trap them all and cut off the source of magic!
Mrs. Hickling smiled as Clara laid the completed exam on her desk, and whispered, âGood for you!â Clara stood there as the teacher ran the answer sheet through the grading machine, and watched the older woman raise an eyebrow as the device spat out the sheetâmarked with a zero, meaning no wrong answers. âReally good for you,â Mrs. Hickling whispered. âThatâs it for the day. Why donât you head home early?â Clara packed her things and slipped out of the classroom.
Clara had practically run out of the school building, skipping happily down the worn, cracked concrete stairs in the front. Going home two hours early meant sheâd avoid the usual teasing, bullying, and mean looks that often accompanied her walks home. It also meant sheâd avoid the hordes of SUVs zooming in and out of the school parking lot, picking up the kids who were too good to ride the bus but lived too far away to walk.Â
The Las Vegas weather was just starting to turn hot as summer approached, but this particular afternoon was near perfect. Clara took the schoolâs great stone staircase two at a time, and then looked back. The tall, deep-red building contrasted sharply with the bright blue sky, and for a moment, she felt out of place here all alone. The teasing, bullying, and name-calling of her schoolmates was so routine, so usual and predictable, that Clara could practically conduct it all without anyone else present.
It would start with Danica, who would remarkâparticularly after Clara had been dismissed early after a perfect Math scoreâon how nobody liked smart girls, or how Clara thought she was smarter than everyone else, or how Clara was such a smarty-pants, or whatever. Danica was terrible at math, and not all that great at anything other than making fun of other people. Clara refused to even try to understand how being smart was supposed to be bad. After almost a year in this school, Danicaâs commentsâOh, you think youâre so much smarter than everyone, Clara! and Nobody like smart girls, Clara!âwere pretty easy to filter out.
Thomasâ, less so. Thomas was one of the students picked up in a sleek black SUVâdriven not by his mother, as was the case with most of the SUV crowd, but by an actual chauffeur. Clara had long wondered why Thomas was even in this school, as she supposed he lived in a much more affluent area of town, but sheâd never worked up the courage to try and find out. Thomasâ insults were personal, cutting, and mean: Clara was poor (which was true enough), she didnât deserve to go to this school (even though there was no other school nearby for her to switch to), she and her family lived on charity (which they didnât, and why would it have been a bad thing if they did?), Clara was short (true) and ugly.Â
Self-consciously, Clara ran a hand through her hair. It was a little frizzy today, but that was because she kept forgetting to use the conditioner Mom had bought her. She dropped her hand and shrugged. It wouldnât matter. Thomas was rich and Clara wasnât, and that was all that really counted in Thomasâ mind. He was smart enough to never make overtly racial comments, but there were plenty of other ways to bring someone down. Clara tried not to care about what Thomas thought or said.
But she couldnât ignore his go-to comment:Â You donât belong here.
Daria was a basic bully. Clara took great pains to make it out of the building well before Daria, because on the few occasions the taller girl had caught her, Clara had wound up with black eyes, bruised cheeks, and, one time, a split lip. There was no reason for any of it: Clara had never said anything more than a polite âHelloâ to Daria, but Daria had an intense need to exercise power over someone, and sheâd chosen Clara to be her whipping girl. âShe probably doesnât have a very pleasant home life,â Dad had told Clara. âWeâve spoken to the principal about it,â Mom had added.
âStill,â Dad had finished with a small frown. âMight be best to steer clear of her.â
Then there was the gaggle of better-than-you girls led by SamanthaââSam,â as her hangers-on were permitted to call her. Theyâd surround Clara, unleashing a litany of petty commentary: Whereâd you buy those shoes, Clara? A Dumpster? or Canât afford makeup, Clara? Itâd sure help with than skin of yours! or How can your parents let you out of the house in that sad excuse for a shirt? Mine wouldnât even let me wear that to dig a hole!
Clara would simply put her head down and push on, forcing the girls to follow her to the street corner, where theyâd finally break off with a parting shot: âWhat makes you think you belong here?â
Belong. Sheâd tried so hard, this year, to fit in. Sheâd been polite. She couldnât exactly dress the part, not with the family living so close to the wire, but sheâd tried. Mom had even helped, taking some of her own clothing and distressing it in exactly the way the other kids seemed to admire and pay so much money for. Dad had managed to give her cash to buy lunches at the school cafeteria, like almost everyone else, instead of bringing her lunch from home. Sheâd tried to join the popular activities and clubs. Sheâd tried to cheer on the football team at home games. Sheâd tried so hard. But it wasnât enough.
Sheâd found that most kids at most of her previous schools were pretty forgiving at first, willing to give the ânew kidâ a shot. But inevitably, most would draw away. That was the pattern: a few weeks of effort, followed by Clara ending up with a few bullies and no real friends. It was like she gave off a âweirdoâ vibe, and eventually, everyone picked up on it.
So although sheâd started this school just a month into the term, Clara had still made no real, long-term friends.Â
A new year, a new school had become Claraâs mantra; no matter how bad each school was, Clara got through on the near-certainty that sheâd never see any of these kids again after summer had passed. Although this year might be different: Mom and Dad had both said they fully intended for her to finish high school in this city, and Dad had even given up a high-paying job as a civil engineer to move them all here. He was in construction now, taking hourly work and overtime to make ends meet while he updated his credentials so that he could find a better job here in Vegas.Â
She groaned a bit as she fully realized that her tormentors could actually be a long-term thing this time. Samantha and company, Daria, Thomas... oh, right. The triplets.
Harriett, Idalia, and Johannaâyoungest of ten children, theyâd once mentioned in class. The others were all boys: Abraham, Benjamin, Carlton, Daniel, Edward, Franklin, and Gerrold, according to a presentation theyâd given for a genealogy project. The other kids had twittered at those names, but Clara had found the alphabetical names eminently practical: youâd always know who was oldest and who was youngest. The triplets had apparently been a surprise: their parents had been aiming for a nice, round eight and had gotten the girls instead.
It wasnât that the triplets were mean, Clara reflected. They were just so... aloof. They ignored most of the kids, but always seemed to have a special, intense, disapproving stare that theyâd fire at Clara in tandem, piercing her with three identical, hard gazes. Without saying a word, they made her feel stupid in a way that Danica would doubtless appreciate, if sheâd ever looked up from her phone long enough to notice. The triplets made Clara feel as lowly as Thomas tried to make her feel with his biting insults. Theyâd never once touched her, but Clara almost wished they had,because in their case, she suspected sheâd make an exception to Momâs strict rule about never fighting. Clara longed to smack the condescension off of their pale faces.
Shaking her head to clear it, Clara turned right off the school steps and began the long march home. Turning right was what really set Clara apart from her classmates.Â
Turning right meant Clara wasnât headed to the affluent neighborhood to the south, nor was she headed for the pickup zone that was always packed with fancy SUVs. No, Clara was headed north, through a small commercial district.Â
She watched restaurants wrapping up their lunch service and preparing for the evening dinner rush. She saw bar doors were thrown open as the staff cleaned out the previous nightâs evidence. She caught glimpses of lawyers working in mid-rise concrete office blocks as they scurried back from late lunchâ
KAW!
Clara stopped so quickly she had to windmill her arms to keep her balance. The loud, harsh call had come from an odd-looking bird, sitting right in the middle of the sidewalk and cocking its head back to look up at her.Â
KAW! it repeated.
It was a crowâor a raven? Clara wasnât sure what the difference was, completely black except for one bright white feather in its left wing. It fanned that wing now, as if waving to Clara. âShoo,â she told it, taking a step forward.
It cocked its head to one side, hopped backwards, and then took flight, aiming for a point just above Claraâs head, forcing her to duck as its furiously flapping wings churned the air above her.
Clara hated birds. Flying rats, Dad called them. Full of diseases. Keep your distance. She looked back, up, and around, but caught no sight of the crow. Weird. She resumed her journey home.
There were no tree-lined streets here; everything was hard. The cracked asphalt gave way to concrete sidewalks, which ended at concrete, brick, or stucco walls. Alleysâfilled with stinking garbage, puddles of oily water, and graffiti-covered wallsâsliced blocks in half.
The transition back to residential neighborhoods was noticeable only because the homes here were single-story, in sharp contrast to the tall buildings of the commercial area. But there were still no tree-lined streets or grass yards: the people on this side of town couldnât afford the water bills that would come if they ran irrigators for trees or sprinklers for grass. The yards were hardâbare dirt, or, at best, rough gravel. The houses were simple, squat concrete boxes with almost-flat roofs, walls punctuated by creaking wooden doors and single-glazed windows. Dam homes, Dad had said when theyâd moved in, built quickly and cheaply to house the families whoâd moved here to work on the giant dam project an hour away. Ancient air conditioners squatted on the roofs, huffing and groaning to keep the homesâ occupants tolerably cool in the advancing heat as summer began to take hold. Everything was faded, bleached to a light gray by decades of relentless sunlight.Â
The last herald of the commercial district was the small neighborhood market, a sturdy block building with wide windows. Hand-lettered signs advertised their key services: EBT Accepted Here, You Buy It, We Fry It!, and Milk - Liquor - Wine. A faded yellow Western Union sign hung lopsided on the glass door. An old man had plunked down on the dilapidated metal bench out front, huddling in the sliver of shade cast by the wooden eaves of the buildingâs flat roof. He nodded politely at Clara as she passed, and she solemnly returned the gesture. The people on this side of town were polite to each other, but they didnât speak much. They were mostly older, their own children having found better fortunes elsewhere. They sat around now, watching the few passersby, staring at rickety televisions, waiting for life to come to its inevitable conclusion.
It was one of the cheapest places in town to live, and it was why Mom and Dad had moved here. And because it was âcloseâ to the school, a solid forty-fiveâminute walk being well within Momâs definition of âclose.âÂ
As Clara stepped up to the short stretch of crumbling concrete that connected the sidewalk to the front step, she noted that Dadâs ancient Toyota pickup truck was missing. The Blue Banger, theyâd named it, in honor of its cracked and fading paint job and the almost-regular backfiring bangs it would make. Its absence meant Dad was still at work, which was good: working as a day laborer in the construction business was like rolling a pair of dice every morning. But if he didnât have a job by lunchtime, heâd give up and come home for the day. He was anxiously awaiting the stateâs approval of his civil engineering license so that he could search for better employment, but apparently, there had been a hiccup in their conversations with the last state theyâd lived in, delaying the process.
âHello?â Clara called as she unlocked the front doorâs deadbolt and stepped inside. The worn floorboards creaked as she closed the door behind her. âMom?â
âBack here, honey,â Momâs voice called from the rear of the house.Â
The little buildingâs layout was simple, essentially dividing the interior into four roughly equal squares. To Claraâs left was the living room, and to the right, the kitchen and dining area. At the back of the house was Claraâs room on the left and her parentsâ on the right, with a little bathroom squeezed in between them.
Mom popped out of Claraâs room. As always, seeing her made Clara feel lighter and happier. Safer. Her dilapidated glasses sat slightly askew on her face, and she absentmindedly straightened them. Her close-cropped hair stood in stark contrast to Claraâs own voluminous afro, although her dark eyes sparkled with the same interest and intelligence Clara had learned to recognize in her own. âI was just tidying up. Why are you home so early?â A look of concern briefly washed over her features; Clara coming home early from school had, unfortunately, been an all-too-regular feature of their lives, although it was usually preceded by a call from the principal, the police, or worse.Â
âFinished the Math final early,â Clara said and watched Momâs shoulders relax. âMrs. Hickling sent me home after she graded it.â
âAnd?â
âOne hundred percent!â Clara grinned.
âOh, baby! Oh, Iâm so proud.â Mom walked to Clara and gave her a warm hug. Clara immediately relaxed into the embrace, savoring it. âThatâs two down. Whatâs tomorrow?â
Clara tensed a bit. âEnglish, which will be fine. And History. Ugh.âÂ
âHistoryâs important, Clara.â Claraâs mother released her and stood back a bit, her hands on the girlâs shoulders.
âI know, Mom. But Mr. Brant is a badly made animatronic. Heâs boring.â
Momâs face grew stern as her hands fell to her sides. âYou already expecting to fail?â
Clara shrugged. âIâll pass. But probably barely.â
âI suppose Iâll take what I can get at this point. Your test scores have been fine all year, though. Why the worry now?â
âThose were all multiple choice. The final is an essay.â Clara gave her mother a quick up-and-down, realizing that she wasnât wearing an apron. âDid you have any jobs today?âÂ
Mom had been taking jobs cleaning homes, picking up clients from Fiverr, TaskRabbit, and other âgig economyâ websites. The money was okay, and it helped close the gap between their bills and Dadâs income, but the work was tough. With only one car, Mom was forced to walk four blocks to a bus stop, lugging all of her cleaning supplies with her, and then spend an hour or more on the bus to reach her clientsâ homes.
âNot today. The Dickinsons cancelled, but theyâre doubling up next week to make up for it. Iâve got three tomorrow. Big ones, too; Iâll be gone until dinner. If youâre going to come home early again tomorrow, Iâll leave a sandwich in the fridge.â
âHistory, Mom. Essay.â
âOh, right. Sorry, babe.â Mom offered her a tired smile. âIâll see if I can get Dad to pick up a chicken for dinner, then.âÂ
The family had long since decided that being able to buy cleaning supplies at Costco would save Mom a lot of money, and the storeâs $4.99 chickens were one of the least expensive and most filling meals they could get, more than justifying the membership fee. The Thorns ate a lot of Costco rotisserie chicken.Â
âAnything exciting happen aside from being a math whiz?â
âTeddy Burnett probably flunked Social Studies this morning. His phone rang right after Mr. Simpson passed out the papers. He got sent to the principal, and Mr. Simpson said he wouldnât get any extra time to do the exam.â
âYet another reason kids your age donât need phones,â Mom teased.Â
Clara had longed for a smartphone since she was old enough to understand what they were, but the Thorns had never been able to afford one for her. Even Dad was using a cheap prepaid flip phone now, and even that was only so he could call around to potential job sites rather than having to drive to them all. Clara had stopped pestering her parents about it once sheâd started to understand the familyâs financial situation.Â
âAlthough I guess itâll be harder for you to keep in touch with your friends once schoolâs over?â Momâs voice was hopeful.
âNo friends, Mom,â Clara said with a sigh. Claraâs lack of friends was a long-running concern in the family. With Mom and Dad, at least; Clara found that she didnât mind.
She gave Mom a hug and plopped onto the battered sofa that sat next to the door.Â
âIâm sorry, babe.âÂ
Guilt prickled in Claraâs chest. She knew that all of the constant moving weighed heavily on Momâs mind. She forced a smile. âI donât mind. Honestly, nobody lives near here anyway, and itâs not like Iâm going to take the bus across town to have a playdate or something. I like helping you around here.â
âBut thisâll be our first summer in one spot in a long time, Clara,â Mom protested. âWe thought youâd finally have a chance to make some friends.â
âThere are no other kids around here, Mom. Iâm actually thinking about volunteering at one of the museums. They take summer docents if youâre thirteen.â
âReally?â Mom sounded hopeful but uncertain. âWell, that could be an interesting place to meet people. Which one? Natural History?â
âThatâs what I was thinking. Because, you know, dinosaurs.â
âHa! True enough.â The uncertainty seemed to have vanished. âWell, let me know what you need. I expect theyâll want Dad and me to sign off on something.â
âI will. Ms. Barrett suggested it and said sheâd bring me a form tomorrow.â Clara paused for a moment as Mom stepped into the kitchen. âHowâs Dad?â
Mom made a clucking noise with her tongue as she opened a cabinet. âHeâs good. He called about an hour ago; heâs in a good spot today. Actually, a great spot. Heâs helping with a survey, which means heâs making contacts with civil engineering firms. With any luck, one of them will have an opening once his license finally comes through.â
âSo weâre... good?â Clara asked carefully.
âWeâre good, babe,â Mom said lightly. Then she turned and met Claraâs gaze through the kitchen doorway, and her eyes widened. âHoney, weâre fine. I know this isnât as nice as the last place, but itâs cozy, right? Thereâs plenty of food. The roof doesnât leak. Weâve got the power bill covered. Weâre good.â Her eyes locked with Claraâs. âAre you okay, babe? Truly okay?â
Claraâs stomach knotted. She hated complaining about their situation, hated that her parents didnât think they were doing their best for her. It felt like Mom was constantly on the edge of apologizing. âOf course! Itâs not that stuff, Mom. I donât mind the house. Even schoolâs fine. I just... I wanted to make sure weâre not going to have to move again all of a sudden.â
âOh, babe.â Mom walked over, leaned down, and cupped Claraâs face in her hands. âNo, weâre not going to have to move again all of a sudden. I think this is the right town for us.â
âI thought you hated it here.âÂ
Mom had been quietly opposed to the move here, but Dad had simply repeated, âYou know this is what we have to do,â until she gave in.Â
âLetâs just say itâs grown on me. And Iâm really happy youâre doing well.â She paused for a moment. âYou are doing well, arenât you? Not just school?â
It was Claraâs turn to sigh. âIâm fine, Mom. I just... I know Dad gave up a good job, and... I guess I feel guilty that we had to move. Again.â
Momâs voice was suddenly guarded. âGuilty? Why guilty, hon?â
Theyâd never spoken of it, but it had been eating at Clara as the school year wrapped up. The end of the school year always seemed to be when everything went wrong.Â
âDanny Davis,â Clara said quietly.
âBabe, what happened to Danny and his family was tragic, but you canât possibly thinkââ
âMom, he beat me up on the last day of summer vacation. Heâd been teasing me and pushing me around all summer, and he finally hit me. And the very next day, their house burns down?â
âClara, you canâtââ
âAnd the town before that, Mom. Des Moines, up north. Last week of school, I got my first period, I was so stressed out, and there was that earthquake.â It had shattered windows throughout the school, burst pipes in the girlsâ room, and set off car alarms for blocks. Clara still had nightmares about it.Â
âDo you seriously think you could haveââ
âItâs just weird, Mom. Itâs always in summer, itâs always right after something bad happens to me, and we always have to leave.â
âHon, we came here for this school." Momâs voice was firm now. This was ground she and Dad had been over many times, and sheâd finally embraced it. At least in front of Clara. âNothing bad is going to happen to you.â
âWhy this school?â Clara had never managed to get a straight answer.
âTheyâre known for their Math program, for one, and weâve known you were a whiz for a long time.â The same answer theyâd always given.
âSeriously, nobody taught math in the last place?â Clara had never pushed her parents on why the family moved each time, but it suddenly felt like the right time.Â
Momâs nose twitched as she considered Claraâa sure sign that she didnât have a good answer ready. âNot like the program here.âÂ
âBut why couldnât we wait until Dad got a job?â
âHe tried, sweetheart. But weâd already missed the enrollment deadline, and we were afraid if we waited any longer, youâd fall behind. Youâre important to us, Clara. Your education is the most important thing in the world.â She offered her daughter a wry grin. âGranted, Dad didnât think it would take quite this long to get his state license sorted out, but itâll come through any day now, he says.â
Clara stared at her mother for a long moment, sure there was still something she wasnât being told. âSo weâre staying.â
âWeâre staying, Clara. Final answer. Even ifâwhatâs that girlâs name? The one who bullied you?â
âBullies, Mom. Present tense. Daria.â
âEven if Daria beats you up and you break her nose, weâre staying.â
âMom!âÂ
Mom shrugged. âIâm not saying I want you to break her nose, Clara. Iâm saying that nothingâs budging us from this school. So you might as well start making some friends.â
Clara flushed with embarrassment. âI try,â she mumbled.
âI know. But look, I grew up an Army brat. We moved every two or three years. I know how hard it is. And I know how mean kids are at your age. But itâs safe, baby. We wonât yank you away again. Not until youâre graduated, and at that point, you can move out and do whatever you want.â Mom cocked her head and asked, âSo you sure thereâs nobody?â
âNobody?â
âFriends, I mean. Maybe... boys?â
âMom!â Clara cried in horror. âThirteen year-old boys are gross. Theyâre not... done yet.â
Mom laughed. âTrue enough, I suppose. Well, maybe this museum thing will be the perfect fit for you. Youâll meet some other kids your age who arenât from your school. Maybe youâll hit it off with someone when you donât have all the school stuff going on around you all the time. AlthoughâŚâ
âWhat?â
âItâs just that for someone so worked up about a History essay, you seem strangely eager to work at a history museum.âÂ
âMom! Itâs not the same thing!â
âIâm teasing, sweetie. Although I do hope youâll maybe make a friend or two. Promise youâll try?â
âMaybe,â Clara allowed.
Mom looked at Clara for a long moment, considering. âTell you what,â she said, glancing at the wall clock. âDad wonât be home for a few hours at least, and I think that perfect score in Math deserves a celebration.â She grinned. âAnd I happened to get a very nice tip from the Ainsleys yesterday. What do you say we walk up to the market and I buy you an ice cream?â
Claraâs eyes lit up. Ice cream was her favorite treat, and she didnât get to indulge all that often.Â
âIâll take that as a yes.â Mom winked. âLet me slip on my sneakers.â
Clara stood and watched as her mother efficiently tucked her feet into her own battered shoes. Itâd be another few months before they had the money for new shoes, Clara knew, and itâs be a trip to the localâ
KAW!
Claraâs head snapped around as the loud birdcall sounded, seemingly just outside the living room window. âDid you hear that, Mom?â
Mom had stepped back into the kitchen to grab a set of house keys. âHear what, hon?â
KAW!
âThat. The crow, or whatever.â
âNo. But crows arenât that common here. You sure it wasnât a pigeon?â Momâs head was tilted to one side as she listened.
âPigeons coo. This was a âcaw!ââ
Mom shrugged. âIâm not hearing it. You ready to go?â
Clara suddenly felt chilly. âYeah.â A thought occurred to her. âHey, would you walk to school with me tomorrow?â
Momâ raised an eyebrow at the odd request. âI think so. Can we go a little early? I can catch the bus on the block over, and tomorrowâs folks all have their own equipment. I just need to carry my bag oâ chemicals.â
âSure. Iâll help carry, even.â
âThen itâs a deal. Mind if I ask why?â Mom accompanied Clara to school once or twice a month, telling her they needed âgirl timeâ out of the house now and again, but sheâd had more morning jobs recently that had made the timing difficult.
âNo reason, I guess,â Clara said, suddenly embarrassed. Was she eight, that she needed her mommy to walk her to school because there was a creepy bird outside? âGirl time? Maybe Iâm nervous about History?âÂ
âLittle late for that, but Iâll take it,â Mom chuckled. âYou sure thatâs all?â
It wasnât, but Clara couldnât explain it. So she simply nodded and said, âYeah. Thatâs all.â
Mom gave her a curious look. âYou sure thatâs all, baby?â
The chill spread to Claraâs thoughts, which grew dark and burdened. This wasnât about History. Well, not entirely. She nodded slowly and forced a smile. âYeah, thatâs all. Câmon, Iâm ready for chocolate!âÂ
It felt like a lie. But Clara couldnât tell the truth. Not when she didnât even know what the truth was.
Clara has never fitted in, not properly. Apart from the love of her mother and father, she feels alone - Lost, almost. When she moves to Las Vegas, and joins a new school, she settles in to the routine of dodging the bullies, safe in the knowledge she'll probably be leaving before the start of the next school year. On the day before the last day of term, she notices the aloof set of triplets slip into an alley way and curious as to what they're doing in the not so upmarket part of town, she follows them. The alley way is straight, not bending or turning anywhere and has no entrances leading off into buildings - but the triplets have disappeared; completely vanished. The only thing moving in the alley is something on a wall; something that should be solid, but is shimmering slightly. Clara approaches the apparition... and finds herself in another world.
Clara Thorn: The Witch that was Found is an incredibly well written Young Adult Fantasy - using magical realism to bring the enchanting world of Underhill to life. The lore of the world he has created is easy to understand, as he reveals it in dribs and drabs, allowing the reader to learn about this new realm at the same speed as Clara, the protagonist. He has hit on all of the typical tropes including found family and magic schools, while managing to create something completely and utterly unique.
There's even a touch of education in there - with Clara seeing the magic as mathematical equations - and Jones manages to explain the effect of balancing equations and formula without losing the reader. He manages to, somehow, keep the descriptions entertaining, even for someone who is a little bit daunted by the prospect of complex maths. Jones also brings up political tension and bigotry without sounding as though he's lecturing the reader on who is right, and who is wrong. He's created morally grey characters through this, showing that political alliances aren't always simply black and white.
Although, by far, the most fun part of this extraordinary novel is the introduction of Wizard Football (as a Brit, I appreciate the use of the word football rather than soccer). The rules of the sport is easy to follow, and the banter between the American born students and the European students is amusing as they try to wrangle on the origins of the 'beautiful game' and whether American Football or 'Soccer' came first. It added a nice spark of humour.
S. A.