Sometimes you donât get to choose your path. Sometimes itâs decided for you â part of a destiny hundreds of years in the making.
Elianne Dell never planned on solving crimes. Or being psychic. Or putting herself in danger. But that was before she found the gift from her birth mother.
Now she can sense the secrets hidden in everyone and everything she touches.
When her friends are threatened, Elianne must do something about it â before someone else gets hurt. The threat is real, and the stakes are high â with life-and-death consequences. But the closer she gets to the truth, the more Elianne realizes that psychic visions alone canât protect her. And that the greatest challenges may still lie ahead.
Sometimes you donât get to choose your path. Sometimes itâs decided for you â part of a destiny hundreds of years in the making.
Elianne Dell never planned on solving crimes. Or being psychic. Or putting herself in danger. But that was before she found the gift from her birth mother.
Now she can sense the secrets hidden in everyone and everything she touches.
When her friends are threatened, Elianne must do something about it â before someone else gets hurt. The threat is real, and the stakes are high â with life-and-death consequences. But the closer she gets to the truth, the more Elianne realizes that psychic visions alone canât protect her. And that the greatest challenges may still lie ahead.
The Locket
Settling back in the envelope, the locket waited patiently. For over one hundred twenty years, it had served. Now, it trembled with anticipation of the new girl and its new life. It had waited fifteen years. It could wait a little longer.
Working in the Attendance office had its perks. It was an easy A for sure. It also gave fifteen-year-old Elianne a chance to meet fellow students she might otherwise never know. So far, was pretty slow for a Friday morning. Already 7:42 and only two tardies so far.
Of course, Artie Washburn. He was late every Monday morning and always tried to argue his way out of the tardy slip.
And Celia Griva. She was a frequent flyer, too. She rode her bike to school, and she was late at least once a week. She blamed it on the traffic, but Elianne thought the 7-11 two blocks away was probably the real reason. Seriously, did Celia not think her teacher would notice the smell of cigarettes? Come on.
Elianne smoothed the front of her hoodie, which had a tendency to ride up, and adjusted her locket so the clasp was in the back. A small electric shock stung her finger. Ow! Static electricity. She must have been dragging her feet on the hundred-year-old carpet in the office.
She leaned out the window again, looking into the hallway for any new arrivals. Huh. Kelli Wooten. This was a bit of a surprise. Sheâd had Kelli in a couple of classes in middle school. She wasnât a brainiac, but she was definitely not one to smoke outside the 7-11. Or in the bathroom even, for that matter. Elianne glanced at the clock. Only about eighteen minutes left in first period now. Wow, Kelli was really late.
Kelli was usually pretty chipper, but today she approached the Attendance window with her head down, defeated and deflated. There was no sign of the quick smile and calm confidence Elianne remembered.
âWhatâs up with this?â wondered Elianne. âFor Godâs sake, itâs just a tardy slip.â
Kelli reached forward for the pink piece of paper, and their fingers touched. Elianne felt a jolt, a zap, and yanked her hand back. Her mind was full of images and thoughts that were not her own. She was eight-year-old Kelli receiving a blue ribbon for attendance at Lemon Avenue Elementary. She felt proud. She was beaming, posing for a photo with her mom and dad. Then she was being handed an actual plastic statuette for attendance at Fairview Middle School. Standing up on the stage. Shaking hands with Mrs. Carlson, the principal. Seeing her mom in the front row in the multipurpose room. Going out for lunch at Olive Garden to celebrate. Having a headache two weeks ago, being really tempted to just stay home and sleep. Taking two ibuprofens and still going to school, because she just could not miss. For that split second, she felt what Kelli felt. This was not just a tardy slip. This was the end of her perfect attendance record. Kelli would never get an award for academics. She was not athletic, so she wouldnât get a jock award or end up wearing a lettermanâs jacket. And she wasnât involved in a lot of clubs or activities, so she certainly wouldnât be part of the Homecoming Court. The one thing she had going for her was her perfect attendance record. And now that was gone. Over. Nothing left to distinguish her from the stoners and the geeks. She was worse. She was ordinary. Elianne felt her disappointment and anguish and understood all this in a flash.
Elianne was dizzy and struggled to remain standing. Her stomach reeled and she was sure she was going to throw up. She definitely might, but first she had to help Kelli.
âKelli,â Elianne called out as Kelli neared the door to the quad. âI gave you the wrong slip.â
Kelli trudged back to the window and gave back the pink slip. âI donât understand,â she muttered. âIâm late, and I need a pass to give to my homeroom teacher.â
âYes you are, and yes you do,â replied Elianne. âHereâs your pass, Kelli,â she said as she slipped Kelli a purple slip of paper. âExcused Tardyâ it read at the top of the sheet. Kelliâs eyes widened as she realized what this meant. An Excused Tardy was the same as being on time. Her record was clear.
âThank you,â breathed Kelli, as she accepted the gift and adjusted her backpack and her posture. âThank you,â she said with a big smile.
Elianne leaned back against the filing cabinet, scrunching up the yellow slip sheâd originally given Kelli and slipping it into her pocket. She was still woozy from the shock, but her stomach had settled down. She looked down at her trembling hands and leaned them on the Plexiglas pass-through. She had literally been inside Kelli Wootenâs head. What the heck was going on? Her heart was pounding, and her face felt sweaty. She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself down. Breathe, just breathe.
Mrs. Atkinson, Attendance Nazi of Fairview High, walked toward her from her office in Administration.
âIf you have time to lean, Elianne, then you have time to clean. Check with Frank Rogers, too. Iâm sure heâs got plenty of filing for you to do.â
Elianne forced herself to put the strange Kelli incident out of her mind and threw herself into the last few minutes of first period. She updated the tardy registry and straightened up the Attendance office window before moving over to Mr. Rogersâ office. She got the filing done right as the passing bell rang.
She had PE second period, and the girlsâ gym was on the other side of campus. Elianne had to run to make it on time. She hurried into the locker room and opened her locker. Thatâs when her vision got blurry again. She had to pinch herself to break out of it. Not again! Not now. I am not doing this, she thought. She grabbed her gym clothes and sat down on the bench to switch shoes and get dressed. Two minutes later, her school clothes were safely stashed in her locker, and she was headed toward the gym for roll call.
By the time she was dressed out and ready, her head had cleared a little, but she was still seriously weirded out. Forty-two minutes of basketball ought to be the diversion she needed. This was one sport she actually didnât dread. She wasnât a superstar by any means, but she did all right. Unlike gymnastics, which made her feel totally uncoordinated. Or badminton last term. What a ridiculous game that was.
Gym class started out normally â that is, until Noor passed her the ball. She caught the ball, held it, and then started to shake, assaulted by images and feelings. Some faces looked familiar; others sheâd never seen before. She was a twelve-year-old boy, peddling a bike down an icy road framed by bare trees and dark, cloudy skies. She was a small child standing on a chair at a kitchen counter, scooping out balls of cookie dough under the watchful, loving eye of somebodyâs grandma. Throwing a tennis ball on the beach and laughing as a slender black lab leapt into the waves and returned, victorious with a lime green ball in its mouth. Lying in bed, covered with a thick quilt, listening to someoneâs father read a chapter from Charlotteâs Web. Flashes of anger and accusations. Slamming doors. Blowing out fourteen candles on a birthday cake. Sweaty palms holding hands in a movie theater. A barrage of memories, like a three-hour movie played superfast for ten minutes. Memories, but not her memories. They came at her so fast, she never had a chance to focus. She threw the ball â not in any particular direction, just to get rid of it â mumbled something about not feeling well, and headed back to the locker room, nauseous and dizzy. Â
Whoosh. Elianne took deep breaths in and out, trying to settle herself down. The deep breathing helped. Her head was clearing, and her stomach was better. What the heck was going on with her? Was she possessed? Insane? Brain tumor? What was happening?
She looked at her hands, then gingerly, with one finger, touched the combination lock on her locker. Zap! The strange movie reel started again. A flood of memories from the countless people who had used the locker before her. She had to get dressed and get out of here. Now. Somehow, she got her locker open and changed back to her school clothes. Then she pulled the sleeves of her hoodie down to cover her hands and closed her eyes. One more class to get through before lunch. Then she could have the nervous breakdown she deserved. She opened her eyes. Natalie Kreminski and Cathy Welsh were staring at her.
âWhat? You never had a headache before? Gawd,â Elianne grumbled, as she stuffed her gym clothes back in the locker, slammed it shut, and twirled the knob on the combination lock. She shouldered her backpack and ran toward H-8 where Mr. Eastey was poised to regale his third period History class with nasty details of the Civil War. She was convinced Mr. Eastey had been a mortician in a past life. He was a pretty interesting teacher in general, but he turned into a ghoul when he talked about the details of war and death and pestilence. No wonder he was so popular. Luckily, Mr. Eastey talked the whole period, giving Elianne a chance to recover from her weird morning.
Elianne managed to struggle through the rest of her school day without incident. She kept her hands covered as much as possible, only rolling up her sleeves when she was sure she wouldnât be touching anything. Lunch was twenty-four minutes of watching her friends, Lindsay and Kate, compete for Josh Walkerâs attention. She didnât have the heart to tell Lindsay that she had a piece of lettuce in her teeth and that sheâd seen Josh walking Cheyenne Yalof to first period class this morning.
French was uneventful, and Chemistry was boring. Especially since Steven Carr wasnât there. Chem was the only class they had together, and it was usually the bright spot of her day, even though he made her a little nervous. He was cute and a little intense and maybe just a little bit geeky, like her. With him not there, though, it was definitely easier to concentrate. Chem could be fun when they did experiments or watched Mr. Vogel demonstrate something. Lectures, however, always made her mind wander. She found herself obsessing on his caterpillar eyebrows and the way he stretched out the last word in each sentence, like it had some special significance. She had just started doodling a picture of Mr. Vogel on her book cover when, thankfully, the bell rang, signaling the end of sixth period.
Usually, Elianne envied her friends who got to ride the bus home, instead of walking. Today, though, she was really grateful she didnât have to be near anyone, pretending that everything was fine. What if she touched the seats on the bus! Who knows how many people had sat there over the years? Those buses were ancient. Probably thousands of people by now. She would definitely have freaked out. In front of a bus full of people, too. No, today she was happy to have to walk home.
Sometimes she walked up the hill with other kids who lived in Eastridge. Most of them had known each other since middle school or even elementary. Theyâd chat about everything and nothing. It was all pretty harmless and kind of a nice end to the school day. Today, though, she didnât want to be anywhere near anyone else. She hung back, watching the pack of students head up her hill. She waited a few extra minutes, too, in case there were other stragglers.
Now alone, she started walking home, thinking as she went. With Kelli, sheâd had the whole static electricity thing going on. Stupid old gross carpet in the Attendance office. Electricity. Maybe it had done something to her brain for a minute. Maybe Kelli had told her about her attendance awards at some point, and her imagination got sparked by the static electricity and sheâd just had a little daydream. Itâs possible. Sheâd read that the feeling of dĂ©jĂ vu was just a brain fart, a blip. Maybe it was like that.
What about basketball, though? And her locker? Maybe she was sick. Sheâd heard about people becoming delirious when they had high fevers. Maybe she had a fever and didnât even realize it. She felt her forehead. It was slightly sweaty. You sweat when a fever breaks, right? Yes. Yes, you do. But you also sweat when you walk up a steep hill.Â
She unlocked the front door and used her sleeve to turn the doorknob. She felt a little ridiculous, but until she knew what was going on she was going to take precautions. She dropped her backpack on a chair in the living room. At least no one was home. She grabbed a Coke out of the fridge and retreated into her room. Her room might be small, but it was definitely hers. She had an old wood dresser that her mom had refinished white, with a bookshelf above it. Her treasured Funko Pops took up most of the shelves. She had gotten her first one at Comic-Con when she was ten. Since then, she had become a real collector. She had Guardians of the Galaxy, Stranger Things, Harry Potter, Star Wars old and new, and Deadpool. Also random ones sheâd gotten as gifts or in her stocking or Easter basket over the years. She had white Christmas lights strung across the four posts of her canopy bed without a canopy. She had photos from a mini printer bordering her full-length mirror â some selfies, but mostly photos of her best friends taken at various sleepovers. She had a Himalayan salt lamp from her aunt in New Mexico. According to the booklet that came with it, it was supposed to purify the air, soothe allergies, boost your mood, and help you sleep. Elianne hadnât noticed any of these benefits. But it cast a warm glow in her room. And it was from her aunt, so it was a treasure. And she still had the glow-in-the-dark planets her parents had stuck on the ceiling when she was five. She still stared at them every night, wondering if someone on one of those planets was looking at a glow-in-the-dark planet Earth and wondering if there was any life here.
Still sweaty and feeling gross, Elianne lay back on her bed and stared at the planet labels peeling away from the ceiling. Bleah, it was hot. There was a ceiling fan in her room, but it was old and barely moved any air. Plus, it made weird, squeaky sounds as the blades spun, which annoyed her and made it hard to concentrate.
Mom and Dad wouldnât be home for another two hours. She had the house to herself. She peeled off her school clothes and jewelry and threw on her light cotton unicorn robe. Her folks had a huge bathtub. Definitely a good day for a soak and a bubble bath.
Her mom had a bunch of bath stuff, some just perfumy oils and some bubble bath. Ah, there it was. Chamomile Bergamot. Perfect. It was obviously her momâs favorite, too. Almost gone. She filled the tub and soaked and played with the bubbles.
Thirty minutes later, she felt like herself again. She ran a brush through her wavy chestnut hair and pulled it into a high ponytail. Then she examined her face in the lighted makeup mirror on her dresser. She didnât look sick. And, honestly, she didnât feel sick, either. Her eyes â an unusual shade of violet blue framed by long, dark lashes â were her favorite feature. They were bright and clear, not bloodshot or anything. Her skin, which tended to be a little on the pale side, was rosy still from the hot bathwater. She flexed her fingers and checked her balance. All good. No sign of sickness.
Dressed in shorts and an AC/DC tee-shirt, she walked around the house, tentatively touching every surface she could think of. Nothing on the doorknob to the garage. Or the hall closet. She touched every single door and drawer handle in the kitchen. Nothing. It mustâve been some weird fluke. Seriously. Maybe it was the static electricity. Plus a fever that came on quickly and stayed around just long enough to make her imagination wacky. Whatever it was, it was gone now. Thankfully!
*****
Her parents came home from work and then left again an hour or so later. They went to their friendsâ house for dinner and cards, and left her money for a pizza and told her she could order a movie, too, if she wanted. Sheâd fallen asleep watching the movie â thatâs how great it was â and finally dragged herself upstairs to bed at around 1 AM. She woke up early Saturday morning in a much better mood. By the time they got up, she had finished what she could of her Algebra homework and was almost halfway through her French project. She was supposed to write in her journal a minimum of twice a week, and she had a lot of catching up to do. Writing everyday stuff in French was tough. After she got past the simple stuff, âI woke up in the middle of the night after having a crazy dream,â and âI had orange juice and cereal for breakfastâ and âI read a book and went outside to water the roses,â though, she was having a tough time writing without making stuff up. They also didnât have roses, but that was beside the point. She certainly wasnât going to write about the Friday from Hell sheâd experienced. She wrote a lot, filling up a lot of pages, but she wasnât sure it would earn her a good grade. She was probably supposed to really extend herself beyond what she ate and drank. Oh well. Sheâd find out on Monday when she turned it in for review. That was the nice thing about Mrs. Gormley: she did a journal review early so, if you were on the wrong track, you still had time to fix it before midterms.
Everyone around Elianne is loaded down with secrets. Her parents hid the fact that she was adopted until a science project at school forced the truth out of them. Some of her friends are depressed, others are trying to win the approval of parents, and even more are dealing with bullies and the harsh realities other high school students pretend to know nothing about.
When Elianne discovers a locket her birth mother left her as a baby, everything changes.
She suddenly finds herself with the ability to see first-hand the thoughts and memories of others, and to empathize with their situations. This new "gift" comes with a heavy responsibility, though--to help those around her, without giving away how she knows their secrets.
Elianne's Locket strips away the masks and facades that tend to hover around the 'glory years' of high school to get straight to the core of what it means to grow from an innocent child into an adult.
Elianne starts this story as a self-centered, almost shallow young woman who's outgrown lifelong friends and dreams of first dates and fashion. By the end of the book, though, her heart grows and matures into a beautiful young woman who is mindful of both others and her role in her world. She accepts faults in herself and grows through them, and tries to help others grow through their obstacles as well.
While the writing style reads a bit on the younger side, heavier themes (see trigger warnings at the end) are present throughout the book, though most end in a positive way. Elianne's Locket is a wonderful reminder to look kindly on others, as you can never know what is going on deep beneath their fake smile or silence.
While there was some rough patches with the editing, this is definitely a story I loved and can't wait to read more of. It's a well-done piece that balances fantasy with reality in a creative, original way.
**Trigger Warnings: Suicidal Ideation, Assault, Assault of a Minor Child Under the Age of 18, Consensual Sex Between Minor Children Under the Age of 18 is Implied but Not Shown, Underage Drinking/Drug Use/Drug Abuse Are Discussed, Parental Abuse of Minor Children, Death**