The Thirteen Hallows by Michael Scott, Colette Freedman

and squeezed Sarah’s hand. “It’s an extremely generous offer.”
    Sarah smiled, her dimples accentuating her understated beauty. “I’ll have the police drop us at my house in Crawley.”
    “You need to phone your office,” Judith suggested quietly. “They’ll be worried about you. You’ve been gone all afternoon.”
    Sarah nodded. There was no sense even trying to go back to work. “I’ll tell them I can’t make it back by the end of the day,” she added, pulling out her phone.
    Judith listened as Sarah tried to explain to her puzzled boss why she was taking the rest of the day off. She could hear the man’s irritated grumbles across the line, and she watched the girl’s exasperated attempts to placate him. In any other circumstance, Judith would have felt guilty about using the power of her will to manipulate Sarah in this way; however, this was a special situation.
    She had to protect the sword—at all costs.

     
    LATER, WHILE she was lying in the strange bed, watching the reflection of the streetlights dancing on the ceiling, Judith Walker listened to the vague sounds of voices drifting up from the kitchen below. She recognized Ruth Miller’s strident clipped delivery drowning out Sarah’s softer protestations and knew she was the subject of the heated quarrel. Judith reached beneath the pillow and touched the paper-wrapped sword, concentrating on Sarah, trying to pour a little strength into her. She felt a strange sorority with this young woman, a kinship, which even after seventy-four years of experiences she didn’t quite understand.
    The Miller family had welcomed Judith’s presence with cool politeness. They lived quiet suburban lives in a quiet suburban neighborhood and obviously resented this bizarre intrusion.
    Tea had been a frostily civil affair.
    Ruth Miller had engaged Judith in brittle inconsequential conversation, while James, Ruth’s latest lover, had barely spoken. Sarah’s younger brothers, obviously warned by their mother to be on their best behavior, had nattered in hurried whispers throughout the meal and ignored the stranger at their table. Much to everyone’s relief, Judith claimed exhaustion following the events of the day and retired immediately after tea. She had been given the youngest boy’s bedroom, a tiny box room decorated with posters of NASCAR drivers, football stars, and a scantily dressed tween rock star whom Judith Walker didn’t recognize. In the middle of the floor sat an elaborate train set and a scattering of stuffed animals. She found the contrast between the burgeoning testosterone-driven sexuality of the posters and the plush toys vaguely disturbing; she guessed the boy was no more than ten. Another sign of the times: Innocence was one of the first sacrifices to the modern age.
    Sitting up on the bed, Judith unwrapped the sword and ran her fingers down the rusted metal. Holding it by the hilt, she brought the broken blade to her lips and felt the familiar surge of power that tingled through her hands and into her arms.
    Old magic, ancient power, rising.
    Judith felt the warmth flood through her body. Aches and pains from stiffened joints vanished; tired, worn muscles relaxed; her sight grew sharp and her hearing distinct as her senses expanded. She was young again. Young and vital and…
    Old magic, ancient power, fading.
    The power left as soon as it had arrived, and her newly keen sight swiftly dissolved to an unfocused blur. Her hearing became muted. And the aches and pains returned.
    Sighing, she wrapped the sword in a faded cotton nightdress and tucked it beneath her pillow. When she lay back, she could feel the hardness of the old iron against her skull. As a child, she’d slept with it beneath her pillow every night, and the dreams…the dreams then had been extraordinary. The sword had been her gateway to portals of imagination, lost worlds, and wondrous and magical adventures. Those dreams had shaped her early imagination and sowed the seeds