Year of Lightning Read online

  Table of Contents

  Front Matter

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  End Matter

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright © 2016 by Ryan Dalton

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior return permission of the publisher.

  First paperback edition: January 2016

  For information on subsidiary rights, please contact the publisher at [email protected]. For details and information, please visit our website at www.jollyfishpress.com, or write us at

  Jolly Fish Press, PO Box 1773, Provo, UT 84603-1773.

  Printed in the United States of America

  THIS TITLE IS ALSO AVAILABLE AS AN EBOOK.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Dalton, Ryan (Young adult author) author.

  Title: The year of lightning / Ryan Dalton.

  Description: First Paperback Edition. | Provo, Utah : Jolly Fish Press, 2015.| Series: The Time Shift Trilogy ; Book 1 | Summary: “Thirteen-year-olds Malcolm and Valentine Gilbert must stop a crazed villain of the future who is bent on destroying their town and family to return to his time, while discovering that they are more than human in the process”--Provided by publisher.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2015037460 | ISBN 9781631630507 (paperback)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Time travel--Fiction. | Science fiction. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Fantasy & Magic.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.D29 Ye 2015 | DDC [Fic]--dc23

  LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015037460

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

  For Mom and Dad,

  who always let me dream.

  Praise for The Year of Lightning

  “Exciting plot, smart characters, and engaging prose; Dalton’s writing jolts straight to your heart.”

  —Ellie Ann, New York Times bestselling author

  “A rousing mix of science and fantasy that will thrill young and old alike! Dalton blends wit and emotion and adventure seamlessly in a tale that keeps your pulse pounding.”

  —Ryne Douglas Pearson, screenwriter and author of Knowing and Simple Simon

  “With cheeky winks to classic time travel and a mind-bending central mystery, The Year of Lightning moves at a pace that lives up to its title and will keep your pulse pounding to the last page.”

  —Karen Akins, author of Loop

  “Every page of The Year of Lightning is non-stop adventure that’s, oddly enough, completely believable.”

  —Hott Books

  “The emotional feelings in this book were so raw, and real.”

  — Maryam Dinsly, onceupona-story.com

  Chapter 1

  A torrent of lightning struck the roof of the old house. Malcolm had never noticed the place before, but now he stood transfixed at his bedroom window. Despite the storm’s power, the house seemed strangely untouched—no damage, no fire, nothing.

  The towering house sat across the street. Faded whitewash covered its three wooden stories, and tall brown grass curled around its worn wrought-iron fence. Malcolm guessed it had been abandoned for decades. Even the round window at the top revealed nothing but shadows.

  Thunder boomed and his own window rattled. He rubbed his arms, feeling chilled. In the window’s reflection, he saw his twin sister move her queen.

  “Check,” Valentine said.

  “Two months of living here, and we didn’t notice it until now?” he said. “How can that be? It’s right across from us.”

  Valentine’s eyes stayed on the chess board. “Noticed what, the storm?”

  “No, that.” He tapped the glass. “Aren’t you listening?”

  “I’m playing the game.” Valentine smirked. “Which is why you’re in check.”

  Malcolm tore himself away from the window. He grimaced at his remaining pieces. “I thought we agreed to slow-play this one.”

  “I had a good move.”

  He blocked with his knight. “You always have a good move. Science geeks shouldn’t beat history geeks at chess. It’s not natural.”

  Valentine grinned. “Well, maybe we should trade hobbies. I know some history.”

  “Really. Which empire first settled the British Isles?”

  She stared down at the board.

  “Can’t answer, can you?”

  “No, but I can do this.” She advanced her rook, removing his last bishop. “Check. Again.”

  Malcolm winced and blocked with a pawn. His attention returned to the window. “How does it stand all that lightning? Shouldn’t something that old just, like, catch fire and fall over?”

  “Shouldn’t what fall over?”

  “Geez, Val. Come on, get up and look at this.” Malcolm tugged on his sister’s arm until she followed him to the window. “Look right there. Wait for more lightning and you’ll see it better.”

  “Mal, I don’t see—”

  “Just keep looking, it’s . . . there!”

  A massive bolt struck the corner of the old house, and a crack of thunder rumbled through Malcolm’s chest. For an instant, the sky lit up like mid-afternoon.

  “Holy cow, that’s loud,” Valentine said. “The storms here are crazy!” Then she stopped, and Malcolm saw realization in her eyes. “Oh, wow. I hadn’t noticed that place before.”

  “Right? That’s what I’ve been saying.”

  “But it’s just an old house. What’s the big deal?” She squinted, leaning closer to the window. “Though, I wonder who’d build a place with—”

  Malcolm nodded fervently. “With no front door.”

  “Actually, there aren’t any doors at all. Now that I think about it, I saw the back from the main road once. I just didn’t remember until now.” Valentine shook her head. “Weird.”

  “Looks like each side has a window at the top. No doors, though.” Malcolm’s voice fell to a whisper. “No way in or out. Why would someone build that?”

  Valentine stared for a moment longer, then turned away with a shrug. “Maybe Oma Grace knows.”

  Malcolm’s shoulders fell. “You’re not even curious?”

  “A little, maybe, but old stuff is your department. Show me something new and you’ll have my attention.” She glanced at her phone. “It’s getting late, and tomorrow is the first day of high school. I should go to bed. But first . . .” She moved to the chess board and slid a knight into position.
“Checkmate.”

  Malcolm came to her side and stared at the board, crestfallen. “Wait, wait, no way.”

  Valentine patted his shoulder in mock sympathy and crossed the hall to her room.

  “Hey wait!” he called. “I think I see a move—”

  “Bedtime, Mal. G’night.”

  Her bedroom door clicked shut. Malcolm studied the pieces a moment longer, sighed, and tipped over his king. Turning on the bedside lamp, he grabbed a book and settled onto the bed.

  Hours drifted by as he let the historical adventure envelope him through the dead of night. Between chapters, he stretched stiff joints and watched the night sky battle on. His room had the best view of the storm, which appeared to be growing angrier by the hour. Lightning flashed constantly behind the dark clouds, and the air rumbled with rolling thunder. His brow furrowed as he noticed that frost had formed on the edges of his windows.

  Frost seems odd for summer. Maybe we’re close to the storm center.

  Malcolm picked out the largest bolts of lightning and the most intense thunderclaps. Mentally he counted the seconds between them, hoping to guess their distance away. Wait, that can’t be right. He counted again and got the same result.

  The delay was identical every time—one and a half seconds between lightning and thunder. Strike-pause-boom, wait, repeat. After twenty minutes of counting, the cycle still ran like clockwork. Is that normal around here? Valentine probably knew but must be dreaming by now. Maybe he’d ask her tomorrow.

  As Malcolm turned away from the window, something brushed the corner of his vision. A burst of light, but not like the others. He whipped back around and stared into the night. A bolt of lightning and a crack of thunder greeted him again.

  Whatever it was, it had looked different than the lightning—brighter, and a slightly different color. Light must be playing with my eyes. He rubbed them and moved to turn away again. Probably just—no, there it is again!

  He saw it this time—a strange pulse of blue-white light. It hadn’t come from the clouds. It had been closer to eye level and from the direction of—

  Malcolm lunged at the shelf over his headboard. Grabbing an antique spyglass, he pointed the lens across the street, toward the house with no doors. He held deathly still, his eye trained on the front window.

  PULSE!

  A beam of light lanced from the window, piercing the inky darkness. One-point-five seconds later the sky erupted in thunder and lightning. Malcolm felt like he’d been dunked in ice.

  “Pulse-lightning-boom. House-sky-air, every time. What on earth is—”

  PULSE!

  A man’s face glared at him through the window.

  With cold fury, he stared into Malcolm’s room and straight down his spyglass. Malcolm froze under those accusing eyes as they pulled him toward the window. His panicked breath came ragged and hoarse, his muscles refused to budge.

  PULSE!

  The face disappeared.

  Malcolm snapped back like a broken rubber band, yelping as he fell from his bed. He smacked onto the floor and collided with the dresser. Antiques and picture frames toppled onto him as he sprawled on the floor, groaning.

  “Mal?”

  A moment later Valentine staggered in, squinting. “What are you doing? It’s like two a.m.”

  Malcolm sprang up and dragged his sister to the window, shoving the spyglass into her hands. “Look across the street.”

  “At what?”

  “You know what! Come on, just do it.”

  Sighing, Valentine held the spyglass to her eye. “What am I looking for?”

  “You’ll know. Shouldn’t be long now.”

  Malcolm watched with her, determined to catch the next pulse. But after a moment, he knew something was wrong. It should have happened already. “These pulses of light were coming from the window across the street! I . . .” What’s taking so long? Minutes passed as they watched absolutely nothing happen.

  Valentine handed him the spyglass. “Well, this was fun. Go to sleep. Tomorrow is a school day.” She glanced out the window as she turned to leave. “Hmm, looks like the storm broke. G’night.”

  Deflated, Malcolm studied the sky as his twin closed the door. The lightning had stopped, the thunder had quieted, and the house had become a dark, old shell again. He dropped onto his bed with a sigh.

  Maybe the light just played tricks on me.

  But the face in the window would not leave his mind. Sleep eluded him, and he found himself shivering at the memory of those eyes. Despite his efforts to believe otherwise, Malcolm knew what he’d seen.

  “Someone’s inside that house.”

  Chapter 2

  First-day jitters. That’s all they are, Malcolm told himself as he and Valentine entered their first classroom at Emmett Brown High School. They picked a lab table next to the windows and settled onto a stool.

  Everyone has jitters the first day of school, he reminded himself. Being in a new town didn’t make his own any better. Plus, they’d be scattering to different classrooms for every subject. Six classes, six teachers—that meant six chances of getting someone weird or mean or half-crazy. Or worse, someone boring. Malcolm perused his class schedule, trying to deduce if any of the names suggested evil tendencies.

  The key is the first class, he repeated. Just hit the ground running, don’t look back, and it’ll be smooth sailing. The morning bell rang as the last few students filed in past the open door. Oh, and try to forget about the mystery man inside the impossible house.

  Malcolm chuckled as Valentine fidgeted with her supplies, arranging and then rearranging them.

  “Shut up,” she said, brushing a lock of wavy red hair out of her eyes.

  “No, I get it. I mean, how can you ace the class with your pen at the wrong angle?”

  She shot him a fake glare.

  Malcolm grinned at his twin. “Don’t worry, Val. You know you’re a science wizard. It’ll be—”

  The classroom door slammed shut with a boom. A man in his late thirties stood in the corner, staring out at the students with sharp eyes.

  “Mal,” Valentine whispered. “Was he behind the door the whole time?”

  Malcolm nodded, transfixed by the strange sight.

  The man’s attention stopped on a sweaty, petrified student with braces. Lurching from his hiding spot, the teacher pulled a rough, gray stone from his pocket, charged toward the lab tables and hurled it at the student. A collective gasp exploded from the class, and the boy flinched as it bounced off his chest and fell lightly to the floor.

  After a heartbeat of silence, the man in the jacket laughed. The boy bent to pick it up and let out a relieved giggle, showing the class how he could squeeze the trick “stone” flat in his fist.

  The class joined in with the laughter, and the strange man sat on the edge of the teacher’s desk with a satisfied sigh. Malcolm noticed that his feet didn’t touch the floor. He couldn’t have been more than five-foot-two.

  “Ah, I love foam. So versatile,” he said, revealing another surprise—a proper British accent.

  “Pretty good trick,” Malcolm whispered. “For a hobbit.”

  Valentine stifled a laugh.

  The teacher wrote Lucius Carmichael on the chalkboard in large block letters. “Like some of you, possibly, I am new to the fair town of Emmett’s Bluff. You may call me Mr. Carmichael, and this year I will be teaching you the secrets of the universe.”

  He faced the students with an impish grin. “My superiors like to call it Introduction to Chemistry. But what is chemistry, really? It is the key, the central science that connects all other natural sciences. Astronomy, physics, geology—the tools for unlocking the mysteries of our world—eventually they all come back to their master. That is what chemistry is, and that is what I will teach you—to be the masters of your own destiny, one molecule at a time
.”

  He paused as if waiting for something, then seemed disappointed. Malcolm wondered if he’d expected them to cheer.

  “Well,” he said. “Let’s unlock our future, shall we? First, we’ll see what you already know. Who can tell me what chemical property describes the ability of an atom to attract electrons toward itself in a covalent bond?”

  Twenty pairs of eyes looked everywhere but at the teacher. Malcolm watched Valentine fidget with a familiar gleam in her eye. She knew the answer, but couldn’t bring herself to speak up.

  “Should I answer for you?” he whispered. “Or just tell them what happened at homecoming last year?”

  Her hand sprang into the air.

  “Ah, a brave soul! Miss?”

  “Valentine Gilbert. Um, electronegativity?”

  Mr. Carmichael’s eyes narrowed. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  “Well, um.” She braced herself. “Telling?”

  “Relax, Miss Gilbert.” He flashed another easy grin. “You are most certainly correct. Round one goes to you!”

  Valentine released the breath she’d been holding and gave Malcolm a grateful look. An instant later, the door burst open. A tall, skinny boy stumbled into the classroom, nearly tripping over his low-slung sports bag.

  “Whoa!” Half his textbooks tumbled to the floor. “Figures.” He knelt to gather them and lost two more. A murmur grew among the class, and the boy stared up from the floor. “Okay, who moved the gym?”

  The class burst into laughter. He straightened, looking proud of himself as he smoothed his blue and gray basketball uniform.

  “Mister . . . ?” the teacher called.

  “Fred Marshall in the flesh, dawg. Where can I park?”

  “Unless ‘dawg’ is slang for ‘brilliant one,’ you will address me as Mr. Carmichael. Take any open seat. Quietly.”

  While Mr. Carmichael resumed the discussion, the new student chose a seat directly across the aisle from Valentine. He ran his fingers through strikingly blond, spiked hair that seemed to stick out in every direction, and then he peered around the room as if already bored.

  Malcolm watched as Fred’s gaze settled on Valentine, lingering for a moment too long. He leaned in her direction, and Malcolm grinned inside. This would be good.