Hollo (The Magic of Thedes, Book 1) *preview*

Chapter 2.4

In the attic, not a trace of Present could be found. Not a glimmer of Gift made itself known from the stacks of things she knew so well. The house was very cleverly packed full of stuff: handy and rare things which Fredric used for his work. Hollo knew nothing of their uses, but you would think to find the new, secret something would be easy amidst the familiar piles.

"Perhaps the thing you want to find hides somewhere else frozen in time,"

Fredric whispered cryptically from the attic mirror.

Instantly she was off, to the broken clock in his bedroom on the floor below, and when she arrived, flung the glass door open.

"No, no silly me sorry," spoke the hand mirror on his dresser. "Not there, maybe ... perhaps you seek to find instead, a package in the house of bread."

"House of Bread," she whispered to herself. "The ninth house," she recited from her books. "The constellation of The Maiden ... the painting!" she cried, spinning on a heel.

"Erm, no, the pantry." He mumbled.

"Aha!" she sped downstairs.

The pantry smelled of dried fish, and it occurred to her that if this was indeed the final resting place of her present, it would be a present which forever would smell of fish. It was likely that even if this house fell down and was taken apart, that pantry, even without walls, would smell of dried fish.

Zooming past Fredric through the kitchen, she shouted at him. "Is it here? Is this it!?"

"Well now," he mumbled to himself. "From what we know, I'd say it's unlikely."

In her excitement, she had forgotten to turn the handle and it very nearly came off in her hands. She took a calming breath, lowered her expectations, and tentatively drew open the pantry door.

Dried fish grinned at her from the racks, and on the floor in the middle of the little walk-in there lay a bundle of brown packing paper. Eyes wide, she sat down, then scooted herself closer to it. The parcel was not square, nor any particular shape. It was lumpy, and bound by warm golden string she recognized as her father's. Knowing better than to try and cut it, she returned to him and lifted it up.

"Oh, wow," he said. "For me?"

She smiled.

"No, no. I can't," he said modestly. "It won't fit me, surely."

"Is it a dress?" she brightened at the thought. "A new dress?"

Fredric touched the tip of his ring finger to where the two molten threads crossed at the center of the bundle, causing them to fall weightlessly away from the paper. She placed it gingerly on the ground and opened it.

The fabric inside was made of such soft material it caused a small breath to escape her. Unfolding it, she pulled it up and around her body, finding it larger and heavier than she expected. Hung from her shoulders, it reached the floor.

"It's a cloak," she whispered, turning this way and that, causing the weighted hem to brush against the floor.

"Technically, no," he corrected. "It's a mantle. For a grownup. But for you, it's a cloak."

"Is it old?" she asked, her eyes tracing the silver threaded outlines of the floral pattern on her shoulders.

"Very old," he nodded.

"Who's was it?" she asked.

"A very tall woman's," he chuckled. "Much bigger than you. It hung to her waist, was very stylish once upon a time." His hand fell on her shoulder, and as he did so, the delicate silver threads glowed. The three large iron buttons at Hollo's chest fastened themselves, and the hood, enormous and heavy, came up over her head. She peeked out at herself, entirely taken by the extraordinary vestment she hid beneath. It was so beautiful.

"Most stunning," Fredric smiled, his cheek propped on his fist, leaning on the arm of his chair. "Absolutely marvelous. You'll make people jealous, surely."

She turned her eyes at him, wide and wondering why he would tease her like that, if only...

"What luck," he said. "I'm going on an errand today, and you're much too splendid to leave home alone."

Nervous anticipation seized her. "You mean, out the front?"

He nodded. "I have a letter to deliver, and it happens to be near the marketplace."

Her jaw fell open.

"Maybe we could stop there on our way back?"

"Yes!" she cried. "Yes I want to, can we?"

"Unless there's something else you want to do with your birthday."

"No no! Nothing, I want to go out to the market! I..." she trailed off, choking back tears. "I want to see the market, yes. More than anything I want to!"

"But we have chores to do," he said somberly. "Beds to be made, dishes to wash, and locks to undo."

"But," she whimpered. "But we'll miss the market!"

"Ah yes," he said, turning frightened. "And you want more than anything to go, don't you?"
She nodded desperately.

"You're gonna tire me out before the day even starts, Hollo, but maybe just this once!" he said with a showy flourish of his arms. He rose to stand, holding several threads in each hand as he did so, letting his golden light out into the house.

Hollo curled into her new cloak, watching her father work his craft as she had only seen a few times before. The house responded to his threads. Windows opened and curtains drew themselves wide to let light spill into the kitchen. An earthquake of activity sounded on the floors above, where Hollo knew in her mind's eye that beds hurried to fold themselves and clothes set themselves to wash.

She jumped to her feet just in time to see her favorite part. Her father placed both hands on the surface of the front door. Threads crept out from the sleeves of his white-cuffed shirt and spiraled into a series of circles. For a brief moment the silver threads shone gold before they turned to smoke. Then the door was free, and in slow measure, let loose from its frame.

She had seen it open before, though this time was different. This time the door was opening for her. Into a world that lay all undiscovered before her.