Golden Healer (The Curse Of Time Book 2)

Book summary

In "Golden Healer," Amelina Scott's life takes an unexpected turn when she learns of her destiny as a Krystallos, a magician of light. On her 16th birthday, she embarks on a journey into the mysterious world of crystal magic, guarded by mythical beings in the Crystal Cottage. However, lurking shadows and a dangerous Shadow Sorcerer named Ryder put her newfound powers in jeopardy, potentially unleashing the Curse of Time. With secrets unfolding and creatures of the Chronophage stirring, Amelina must rise to the challenge and fulfill her true potential as a magician.

Excerpt from Golden Healer (The Curse Of Time Book 2)

I peered out of my double-bay living-room window. From there, I had an excellent view of our front garden with its many scattered flowerpots in various stages of growth, or demise. A single lonesome tree looked as if it might have been struck by lightning, and its unfrequented bird box suggested that to be true. Two small, neglected rectangular patches of lawn further announced that time spent in the front garden was kept to a minimum.

Dan Steele, a local reporter, was wading through the long grass with his camera at the ready. He’d set up his equipment ready to get a spectacular scoop. Of course, Dad spotted him and avoided going outside all morning. He’d squirrelled himself away in his attic office at the top of the stairs. I know how he hates it when the press arrives on our doorstep, uninvited. So, to cheer him up, I popped up two flights of stairs to take him a cup of tea.

Toby had no way of understanding Dad’s predicament. He camped outside the door, whining. For the non-initiated—, Toby is my aunt Karissa’s mad dog, whom we’re dog sitting.

By lunchtime, hunger and Toby’s escalating destructive behaviour brought Dad and dog downstairs.

I heard Dad in the kitchen, singing to himself. He often does this when he’s preparing food. He’s tall, my dad, with ash-brown wavy hair that bounces in tune to the voice in his heart when he’s happy but clings to his head when he’s sad. He joined me by the bay window, carrying a welcome plate of sandwiches for us to share.

As we tucked in, he raised an imaginary toast to Dan, saying: “Another strange day in the life of the Scotts.”

I squeezed his shoulder. Poor Dad, when would the journalists leave us Scotts alone?

Nothing much else must be happening in the suburbs of Cambridge.

He smiled and gave Toby a pat, attaching his lead. “Time to face the paparazzi, Tobes!”

“Is Toby up for it, Dad?” I asked jokingly.

“Tobes and I, we have it covered, don’t worry.” Toby barked in agreement, pulling at his lead in a frenzy of excitement.

This was classic, Toby and Dad. What a joke! The press have no clue how strange we are. Imagine if they discovered the truth? Instead of a tiny column in the local newspaper, we’d warrant a double-page spread.

As Dad lunged out of the house, Toby bounded off. He almost pulled Dad over, but Dad recovered his balance. Toby leapt up, knocking over Dan who staggered back but righted himself.

Reporter Dan’s bushy eyebrows advanced up his lined, curious forehead. “Mr Scott, I’ve a few questions… Please tell us about your strange rejuvenation. Your neighbours have reported a sudden, extraordinary change in your physical appearance. You disappeared, and, against all the laws of science, you aged and then, like magic, you’re back and thereafter you shed decades.”

Dad didn’t bother responding. A “no comment,” would have been too good for Dan. Instead, he gave Dan an evil look that said it all. And then, in a fury, Dad dropped Toby’s lead and stormed back into the house.

Dan ended up outside, alone with Toby.

Dad and I now stood side-by-side by the lounge window, watching. When poor Toby realised his favourite master had abandoned him, he whined. Whining didn’t succeed, so he barked and jumped up at Dan’s leg, hoping that he would take him for a walk. Dan ignored him as Toby ran back and forth until the inevitable happened. He knocked over a beautiful plant pot in the garden, smashing it into two halves.

Toby stared at it for a second before barking again.

I turned to Dad and laughing I remarked: “Toby’s barking is the closest Dan will ever get to an interview.”

Dad’s face cracked into a huge grin. “I almost feel sorry for Dan!”

Toby moved towards the front doorstep and howled while scraping the door with his paw.

From the defeated expression on Dan’s face, it was clear Toby’s behaviour would drive even the most determined journalists away. He was a challenging dog, not one to cope with alone, not if you wanted to keep your sanity so, like all sensible reporters, Dan left with his tail between his legs.