When I started writing The Town Halloween Forgot, I never intended for it to become a series. I just wanted to write a stand alone novel based around the Halloween theme. So when the idea for Aurora came to me, I decided I’d go with it and see how the first draft looked before making a decision to carry on writing with the intent to publish.
In the second novel I wanted to take Danny on an adventure that would enable him to use all his supernatural gifts. For once in his 16 years he is alone on a dangerous mission to retrieve the Stones of Aurora before the evil king Vortigen claims them to control the population of Aecleti. (For those who are not familiar with the first book, the Aurora stones contain the purest of magic.)
In this book, Danny is still getting used to the idea of being part wolf (from his grandfather’s side) and being, as the witches and warlocks of the world, Aecleti call him, “the boy who was written in the stars.”
His life was mapped out before birth, as the boy who would help free Aecleti, but even the most powerful wizard, Ambrosius could not have foretold that his mission is only just beginning. And we will find out what this entails in book 3.
Excerpt from chapter two, The Stones of Aurora
The cool night air whipped against the skeletal branches of the old, mangled oak at the bottom of the garden. Since Hallowe’en, the ghastly overgrown state, which the garden had succumbed to, had been de-cluttered and preened. Although, to any passing traffic, it still retained its menacing Gothic, feel. Not that many passed the black, crooked house on top of the Willow Creek hill anyway, as most of the time the passers-by would take a detour down Farmer Jenkins’ lane just to avoid it. Now, even with a thin layer of snow, and strings of multi-coloured Christmas lights covering the least attractive features, the building wasn’t done much justice.
A lone brown owl, perched on a branch of the old oak, flicked its inquisitive yellow eyes down at the block of artificial light from the arch-shaped door. A young boy, tall, with shaggy dark hair stood by the doorway; his shadow stretched across the wooden porch. He took a sip of his hot chocolate from a red ceramic mug and leaned against the doorframe, slipping his other hand into the back pocket of his denims. The sweet, mint-flavoured smell rose to his nostrils, encasing his face in hot, thick, chocolaty air, as he stood listening to the other members of the household arguing over what was for dinner.
‘I want pizza,’ Molly, the youngest member of the household yelled, ‘with cheese and sausages on top!’
‘Oh no, not again,’ Danny grumbled to himself, as he picked up his acoustic guitar that was propped against the garden bench. He walked across the porch and leaned over the wooden fence overlooking the garden and the town of Willow below it.
‘Not again, no. I’m making spaghetti, madam!’ Fran yelled back.
‘Wait for it; Molly will change her mind,’ he murmured to himself, amused by the whole conversation.
‘But … but that’s all you cook, Mum. And it is Christmas Eve.’
Danny shook his head, as he knew Molly had already won.
‘She’s done it again – wrapped Mum round her little finger.’ He snickered into his mug, taking another gulp as his gaze fixed on the snowy peaks of the Mystic Mountains beyond the town. The sky was a bruised blue with streaks of pink; the remainder of what had been a sunny, wintry day.
‘No, I do not cook just spaghetti, young lady. You must have a pizza monster living inside your tummy.’
He turned around to glance through the kitchen window. Molly was sitting on the kitchen worktop, her back turned towards him. And Fran was standing in front, with her hands on her hips, not looking pleased she was being outsmarted by a six-year-old.
The usual routine: Molly went on and on until her mother gave in to her demands. Fran threw her hands up in the air in defeat.
‘OK, OK, I’ll make the pizza. Now stop going on.’
Just as he was about to take another sip, there came a scratching sound from across the garden. He lowered the mug from his lips, sensing something watching him. It wasn’t unusual to see the odd dark shadow lurking in corners.
copyright: K.A. Hambly
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